


The Forever Queen

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Prince Alfred's kingdom is in danger and a mysterious warrior shows up to save the day. Only at the end of it he disappears, taking Alfred's heart with him. Now it will be up to the prince to set out on a quest to find his future Queen. Vaguely inspired by 'Monarchy of spades' by Butterfish and Haku but not cardverse. Rated for violence and yaoi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N – Hello everyone! So…this just happened. A few nights ago I read the 'Monarchy of spades' by Butterfish and Haku and I was so sad and upset that my hero complex kicked in and this is the result. But, like I said in the summary, this is not cardverse. It has a few elements of chess in it, for some reason black and white appeal to me more than colors ;) Also, there will be a few (or more than a few) fight scenes in this story, because I'm a fan of action even more than I am a fan of romance. There will be some funny crack too, because I think my characters have potential. So… to cut this short, enjoy my new tale and let me know what you think ;)

* * *

Deep blue orbs swept warily over the black forest unfolding in the distance, beyond the castle walls, to the North. To the West, the sinuous river made its way through golden fields and green meadows, relatively prosperous villages and small towns dotted along its path to the sea. Now, at the peak of spring, his kingdom was in full bloom, like nature itself. But this year - the nineteenth of his short life - spring had not only brought buds on the branches of trees and fresh blades of grass upon the ground, no. Spring had brought about the threat of war.

Alfred eventually moved away from the tall, narrow window of his bedroom and plopped down on the four poster bed, the only so-called luxury his otherwise austere chambers held. His body ached after the hard day of training, but fearful thoughts refused to let him to rest. The Fourth of the Black Kingdoms had been lucky to enjoy many long years of peace until now, but their luck had run out at last, it seemed. But, as things were, it was bound to happen. The White Kingdoms of the South were eating up more and more of the northern lands and with the ineffective fight the other Black Kingdoms had put up (not to mention that the Whites had formed a league, while the Black northerners stood stubbornly alone), the young prince had known it would be a matter of time until their border was reached.

But that was hardly the worst thing of all, after all Alfred was strong and valiant and perhaps enough men could be gathered and trained for war. No, the worst thing of all was the much dreaded _tradition_. He'd studied it, but failed to comprehend it altogether. Each of the Black and White Kingdoms was required to have a King and a Queen – that made sense. The Queen could be a woman or a man - that was slightly strange, but the baffling part was that, while the King had rather 'domestic' duties, such as dealing with the administrative affairs of his land while surrounded by his Council, advisors and whatnot, matters of war and of the army were always and without exception to be handled by the Queen. The Queens themselves had to be skilled fighters and cunning strategists in that purpose. And just happened to be a huge problem.

The current King and Queen of the Fourth Black Kingdom, Alfred's parents, were quite old now. Having lived through nothing but peace, King Thorne had not bothered much with the tradition – in fact hardly bothered at all – he'd just married the woman he loved, dismissing the fact that she was hardly the kind of 'cutthroat wench' required for the job. Now, many years later, Alfred too had plenty of girls swooning over him, but knitting needles were about the only dangerous items they could wield. Thus, he was without a Queen and, on the day of his nineteenth birthday, a letter had come announcing that the White league led by King Francis had declared war upon their land.

Alfred for one thought that for a King – who was supposed to be the most powerful man in their land – to hide behind their Queen was cowardly. Well, not that _he_ had anyone to hide behind. So, as the future King, he'd taken it upon himself to organize their defense, to the best of his ability, which was actually more than that of his father, mother and all their advisors combined. But sadly, not everyone was as open-minded about the issue as he was – people feared, even the soldiers were terrified, all believing that in the absence of a proper Queen nothing but doom awaited them. They all beseeched him to wed without delay and even malicious rumors had started about the young prince being picky and showing stubbornness in the matter. It was a complete mystery to the young prince why everyone assumed that finding a Queen – a suitable one – was such an easy thing and somehow at the tips of his fingers. It had ceased to matter now though, there was no more time. The challenge had been made and if they lost there was going to be no need for Alfred to find a Queen, as the Whites would engulf their lands and _he_ would not be King. There would only be King Francis and _his_ Queen.

* * *

Today. It was already today, he thought, eyes trailing to the sky slowly lighting up in the East, the long shadows of night chased away by dawn. Tormented by dark thoughts, Alfred had not gotten any sleep. Brooding, the prince left the bed which had provided so little comfort in the past hours and peered past the glass of the tall, narrow tower window. There they were already, as the letter had promised – a sea of white tents, with banners flying high in the wind stretched beyond the barren field outside the walls of their small capital. King Francis was here to finally get his hands on what he'd asserted it was rightfully his.

With a gloomy countenance, the young prince barely heeded his mother's soothing words as the servants clad him in black steel mail and plates. Then he dropped on one knee for her to place a tender kiss upon his forehead and for his father to give him his blessing. His parents were probably the only ones who weren't blaming him for their Kingdom's current predicament.

Hateful glares burned in the back of his head as the prince and his handful of nobles rode hastily through the streets of their city to meet up with the rest of the army Alfred had been able to assemble and which was waiting just below the walls, prepared for battle. People had gathered, but no one was cheering, no one looked hopeful, it was as if the small group was riding to their own funeral.

* * *

A lasting scowl was carved into the bespectacled blond's features by the time the small group left the gates behind. His gaze slipped past the wary faces of the men, knowing there would be nothing there but the same scornful, accusatory expression which was starting to make him sick to the core. Instead, blue eyes looked up towards the ominous, cloud laden sky, in a final plea.

"Oh Gods, I beg of you, do not be cruel to me and my people! Please help me defeat King Francis, please! I will do anything, _anything_! Take my life if you must, but do not let my people be enslaved!" he murmured as he dismounted and passed the reins to a foot soldier.

"Milord, it is time."

Yao Wang, the King's oldest advisor, sighed heavily and motioned towards a plain strip of land which was to serve as the 'center of the chessboard' for the upcoming confrontation. Alfred wished with all his heart that along with the ancient, crippling traditions of their continent, all these absurd rituals which served to make a war appear as a game be dropped too. War wasn't a game – it was suffering, death and destruction. Why did no one see that?

The prince and his high-ranking nobles started walking towards the indicated spot while the advisor led the way, his magic stick at the ready. Yao's long hair, which had been raven black once, but now streaked with grey, was swept back in a tight tail at the base of his neck. He may have been an old man, but this was his first war. It was pretty much everyone's first war, the blue-eyed blond though morosely, resisting the urge to turn around and look over the hunched frames of his men, bowed in hopelessness.

Suddenly Yao stopped and slammed his stick into the ground. There was something like a flash of bright light and the mud at their feet was instantly turned into smooth, checkered marble slabs outlined by silvery edges which covered the whole field, forming a gigantic chessboard. Alfred lifted his gaze from the polished, gleaming surface to see the White King Francis and his party advancing to their designed spots.

"Milord, you must take your places," the advisor instructed, guiding the young prince and the others to stand aligned, such that they formed an almost complete chess formation. Almost, because the black square to the blond's left was empty. His countenance darkened some more upon seeing the glamorous Whites. The King, tall and graceful, with long golden locks appearing barely windswept and held back with a silk ribbon, was donning a white fur mantle over shiny white steel armor and a crown littered with diamonds sat upon his fair head. To his right stood his Queen, a short, lean boy with blond hair falling just below his chin, an odd curl sticking out from under the tiny golden crown he wore. He appeared fragile, even clad in white steel gleaming under the soft pristine white velvet, tasseled cloak hugging him like a flurry of snow, but there was an icy, deadly glare in his large purple eyes which couldn't have been more ominous.

"Why on earth must we play this _chess thing_ , Advisor Wang?" Alfred hissed angrily. "It's a stupid game and the King is a shit piece! It makes no sense! Shouldn't the King be the most powerful piece?"

Yao shook his head discreetly and opened his mouth to answer, but gave up seeing the White King taking a step forward in front of his own ranks, appearing to assess their opponents thoughtfully for a moment. But then his face broke into a broad grin and he clasped his white velvet gloved hands together, appearing very pleased.

"So then, it is true what I have heard!" he said, eyes trained on the prince. "There is no Black Queen in the Fourth Kingdom!"

Alfred gritted his teeth and his steel gloved hand flew to the handle of his sword, clutching it angrily. Of course, the bastard couldn't just get it over with, he'd try to intimidate him. The young prince took a deep breath and hoped today would be the day the old beliefs fell, together with this arrogant monarch. He walked forth in turn, facing the other determinedly.

"I am Prince Alfred of the Fourth Black Kingdom! Today I stand before you unafraid and what you have or have not heard is of no interest to me!"

A gasp of feigned surprise left the White King's lips and he held out his hand, motioning for the boy at his side to join him. "Oh, how rude of us, we have forgotten to make a proper introduction! I am King Francis of the White Kingdoms and this is my Queen, Matthieu. Back to the matter of Queens though, I must say, none of the others we've confronted so far were in any way worthy of their crowns, but this is truly _unheard_ of! My dear Prince Alfred, you may be young and unknowing of the ways of this world and a Queen may be good or bad, but to show up _lacking_ one is quite similar to showing up without pants on!"

At his words, his entire court burst into laughter, the unrestrained mirth spreading like wildfire backwards, all the way to the ranks of his awaiting soldiers. The other blond's cheeks burned with humiliation and his sword shot up from its sheath, being swiftly pointed towards the enemy King.

"At your age you should know that a pair of silk trousers will not win a battle, mighty King Francis, and at least I'm not hiding behind a little boy, you fucking coward!"

King Francis snorted disdainfully, as if the young prince's words were not worth a reply, but instead his Queen pushed past him graciously, a light smile adorning delicate features, but the purple eyes narrowed menacingly. "You may have some guts, fair Prince Alfred, and you may have some strength about you, but I see no great army behind you as you so boldly speak. All the terror I have prepared to unleash upon your lot, you will suffer alone, because you don't have a Queen!" he stated, the final words laced with a poisonous chuckle.

And now the White Queen will slaughter us, Alfred thought, his mouth pursing into a grimace as he thought of the state of his men. They lacked in numbers and despite his efforts… well… their preparation left a lot to be desired. But then a strange thing happened, he saw some odd twirls of black smoke slipping across the marble, hurrying in his direction. His hand with the sword wavered and the bespectacled blond lowered it, beginning to panic. What the hell? His gaze shot back to the White monarchs, but only saw a confused scowl upon their faces too as they watched, expectant.

"Bollocks! Of course he has a Queen."

Alfred blinked, startled by the unfamiliar voice, and turned around brusquely, facing the previously empty Queen square. Only now it wasn't empty anymore. It was occupied by a boy around his own age, only a tad shorter than the prince, slender and with the loveliest face he'd ever seen. There was something almost elfish about his pale, delicate features, defined by strong eyebrows and large gem-like green eyes, shadowed by unruly blonde bangs. The stranger was wrapped in a heavy black cloak, but Alfred saw the black steel gleaming through the folds.

The prince stepped back on his own square, resisting the impulse to scratch his head. "Um…"

"Did I miss anything, my King?" the stranger asked in a soft whisper, leaning towards him.

The bespectacled blond snorted. "Uh, I don't know, a lot of stuff, like… our wedding for example… whatever you name is? And I'm not yet a Ki-"

"That's just semantics," the smaller blond interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "And it's Arthur," he clarified, smiling suddenly. "I apologize for my tardiness!" he added, pressing a hand on his chest as he faced the White King and Queen.

"O…kay," the prince muttered to himself, brow still furrowed in confusion. "Arthur…"

But then the green-eyed blond turned around, scowling, appearing to be pondering on something as he glanced back towards the rows of black soldiers. "Hmm… Oh, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, and with a grave expression lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers. Alfred watched dumbstruck as their army's numbers increased significantly. Now the rows of black armors, both cavalry and infantry, with black banners held upright stretched past the city walls, all the way over to the edge of the forest in the distance. The new black soldiers wore closed helmets, adding to the sinister effect of their overall appearance. They looked like an army from Hell.

"Hey! All those soldiers were not there before!" Queen Matthieu pointed.

The newly arrived Black Queen titled his head and sighed nonchalantly. "Irrelevant, they are here now."

" _Excusez moi_ , but what exactly is going on?!" King Francis demanded.

"If you don't know what is going on, then what the hell are you doing here in the first place, frog?"

The White monarch's face fell a bit at the unexpected insult and he turned, his hand resting on his Queen's shoulder as he whispered something in the boy's ear. The other agreed. "Fine, we can see you are good with tricks. Everyone is good with tricks these days, it seems," he laughed coldly. "I have a suggestion that will avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Let's have our Queens decide the fate of this war in single combat." Queen Matthieu grinned. "Unless you're scared, of course…"

Prince Alfred sighed and turned around with a weary expression. "Look… um… Arthur, I am grateful for this trick of yours, but it looks like it's kind of failed, so-"

But the Black Queen wasn't paying him any attention, looking instead as if the challenge pleased him. A firm hand pushed the bespectacled blond aside and he stepped forward, a wide grin on his face. "It's alright, my King. I'll fight him."

"You'll fi-?"

Alfred's words were cut short when the stranger's hand reached up to cup his cheek. "Give me a kiss, my King," he asked, green eyes serious all the sudden, pleading even. Bewildered, the prince found himself having no choice but to lean in and press his lips onto the boy's. It was but brief, yet it left the taller blond breathless.

"Pfft… lovers," King Francis snorted disdainfully, as his Queen advanced and unclasped his cloak. The white velvet piled behind his frame as the blond drew out something resembling a walking stick. Except as soon as he twisted the handle, a gigantic scythe sprang out at the end of it, the broad, razor-sharp blade gleaming wickedly in the pale light.

"How distasteful!" Arthur declared, hand resting on his slender hip. "As befitting a frog like you!"

"Who is a frog?!" Queen Matthieu demanded angrily.

"You two," his opponent clarified, finger pointing at him and his King. "Big frog, little frog."

"By the Gods, you will pay for this, insolent fool!"

The black cloth slipped from the Black Queen's shoulders, revealing two sheaths hanging on the boy's back. Arthur drew out two twin swords and gave the two weapons an expert spin with a mere flick of his wrists. Tilting his head to the side playfully, his grin widened as his opponent lunged forward shouting. The scythe was forcefully swung in a broad motion, seeking to sweep him off his feet. But the green-eyed blond jumped up, performing a large tumble in the air and then landing gracefully on one knee behind the White Queen. Matthieu turned quickly and attempted a blow, the blades colliding and making sparkles fly as the metal clashed.

Alfred's heart pounded madly in his chest – every time the infernal scythe was swung, it elicited a horrible hiss as the blade pierced the air. He could barely watch, fearful for the stranger's fate. The Black Queen however seemed unfazed by the danger. He moved quickly, effortlessly, eventually forcing the broad blade to the ground and stepping on it, causing the White fighter to abandon his weapon. But the other Queen rapidly drew a sword of his own and they clashed again. This time Matthieu seemed to gain ground and a thin bloody gash appeared on Arthur's cheek. The green-eyed blond lost one of his swords and as the remaining blades collided and got momentarily stuck, fists began to be exchanged on the side.

"Advisor Wang, I feel like an idiot standing here and doing nothing!" Alfred hissed as his Queen appeared to waver a bit, but Yao shook his head. Tradition required him to stay out of the Queen's fight, he explained. At most, he could only take on King Francis himself. But obviously, the White monarch did not plan to fight…

But then the prince saw the White Queen suddenly kicked and sent flying across the chessboard, all the way back to the White ranks, where he remained motionless onto the marble. But Arthur too seemed to be staggering now, his chest visibly heaving even with the armor on and the prince, disregarding all protocol, rushed to his side and wrapped his arms around him, supporting his delicate frame against his chest.

"Matthieu, get up! Get up and fight!" King Francis hissed, hovering above his fallen Queen, but his expression was cold and disdainful. Right, Alfred realised, a King wasn't supposed to love his Queen and he wondered if the White King was by any chance going to slam his boot into the boy's side to nudge him awake. Arthur too saw this and he made a move to pull away, but the prince's arms held him in place.

"No, please stay," the bespectacled blond murmured, ignoring the hint of disbelief in the large green eyes looking up at him and continuing to hold the panting boy close.

In the meantime, several of the White courtiers had rushed to their Queen's side and were kneeling around him worried. "He breathes, sire!" one of them told King Francis hopeful, but the monarch only waved his hand dismissively, with a disgusted grimace. "Take him away." Then his white velvet gloved hand shot in the direction of his opponents.

"You may have won today, _almost-king_ Alfred and _almost-queen_ Arthur," he spat," but what you have is not meant to last! Soon enough, I will rejoice in your downfall!" Saying that, he wheeled around, his mantle twirling around him dramatically and motioned for his men to fall back.

"The Whites are retreating, Milord!" Yao Wang announced with obvious relief, but the prince paid him no attention. His eyes saw only the smaller blond in his arms, Arthur's tired smile and that incredible brightness in his emerald orbs. He smiled back, widely, and the nobles and the soldiers were already cheering wildly, so Alfred reached down for the boy's waist and held him up. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, they kissed again. This time things got slightly more heated, the Black Queen's slender fingers running shyly through the prince's blonde strands and caressing the back of his neck.

"Arthur… how could I ever thank you for what you did today?"

The green-eyed blond's smile faded and he gently pulled away from the prince. "You already have, my King. It's alright now, your kingdom is safe and… I must go."

Alfred blinked, uncomprehending. "Go? Go where? No, Arthur… please, stay here! W-with me…" he pleaded, trying to retain the boy's hand in his.

"I'm sorry, my King, that cannot be…" Just as he said the words and his head bowed in sadness, the Black Queen's frame melted away in a cloud of smoke.

_**To be continued** _

 


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Alfred stared blankly at the wall, head in his hands and ears mostly deaf to the chaos reigning in the castle's dining hall. This should have been a victory banquet which his father and mother were happily hosting, but of course the tale of the mysterious Black Queen who had appeared out of thin air and vanished just as peculiarly was on everyone's lips. Hypotheses and assumptions of all kinds flew around the room in an unintelligible buzz which was unlikely to cease anytime soon.

The bespectacled blond did not care about any of it as he sat there numb, his plate and cup untouched. There was a cold claw around his heart as his mind was plagued with the memory of the charming boy who had stood so bravely by his side in his moment of need, only to abandon him without a word and without any explanation shortly after. Arthur's lips had called him his King, Arthur's eyes had taken him in with affection, Arthur's mouth had joined his in passion while gentle fingers had threaded through his hair, sending previously unknown shivers down his spine. And now the lovely green-eyed imp was gone.

What the hell?

"Alfred, love…" the prince turned to see his mother's small, pale hand resting on his shoulder. "You know you can tell us anything, you don't have to keep secrets from us," the Queen went on, sighing softly. "And you know, your father and I will not be upset if you got married in secret…"

Blue eyes trailed bewildered from the Queen to the King, who was currently mirroring his wife's expression of affectionate concern. They couldn't have been serious, could they?

"Whatever it is, son, we have all the confidence that you've made the right decision. So, like your mother said, there is no reason to keep things from us."

The prince blinked, incredulously. " _Wha-_? But that's the thing, I have not made any _decision_! Tell them, Advisor Wang! I have no idea who that… that man was, he just appeared from a cloud of black smoke and disappeared likewise! A-and all those soldiers popping up from nowhere!" And now all those soldiers were gone too, he thought morosely.

Yao nodded, glancing down thoughtfully at his meticulously cut stake. "Indeed, Sire. It was plain to see that there was some sort of sorcery involved. I cannot explain it though…"

"Oh, but they say you two kissed. Twice," the Queen pressed, giving her son a knowing look. "And quite _heatedly_."

A noticeable shade of pink dusted the bespectacled blond's cheeks at her words and he conveniently looked away from his mother, his gaze sweeping indifferently over the crowd of bickering courtiers. "Nonsense, it was a mere peck on the lips and besides, he asked for it," he grumbled through tightly pressed lips. "It was the right thing to do!"

"Well, I bet it was, son!" the King laughed, nearly spilling his wine all over his impressive beard.

That truly was the last drop. Alfred stood abruptly from the table and without another word stormed out of the hall, slamming the massive doors in his wake before the two guards could get hold of them. Out in the dark hallway his head seemed to cool a little, the sparkle of anger from earlier making way for an unsettling feeling. The prince glanced outside beyond the tall windows and saw that the dawn was coming. The dark grey sky, on which the fireworks of the city had long died, was slowly lighting up, the contours of clouds more and more visible. It was still very early in spring and if the day before had been gloomy, now it looked like it would rain too.

But the prince didn't care, he just couldn't find his place anymore and he was genuinely tired of all the weird looks he was getting. This was becoming some sort of curse which he wasn't currently in the mood to put up with. Nervous fingers unclasped the fur edged velvet mantle and let it drop carelessly on the stone floor as Alfred wheeled around, suddenly decided, and took off with large strides.

* * *

Advisor Yao Wang caught up with the young prince at the stables. The older man panted a bit from the effort of walking hurriedly all the way and a pale, weary hand, brushed off some dark unruly strands off his slightly sweaty forehead.

"Milord, I believe it will rain soon and it is quite chilly out there. Should you really go out hunting on weather like this?"

The bespectacled blond took a deep breath, pulling on leather gloves as a sleepy servant saddled his horse. "I must do something, anything, I need to get out of here before I go mad!" he said, running a hand through his hair. "I cannot face anyone right now. Did you not see? Even my parents think that I must have married in secret!"

Yao nodded slowly, gravely. "If you don't mind, I shall ride with you, Milord."

A small drizzle had already begun to fall steadily as they galloped through the now empty cobblestoned streets of the city. It didn't bother Alfred in the least, the cold wind whipping his face was a relief as he hurried to leave the castle behind. He was also relieved that Advisor Wang had not made a fuss that they were headed out for the woods with no escort. After all, the prince was armed with his sword and his bow and he knew that despite his somewhat meek appearance, Yao Wang could be quite the dangerous opponent if it came to it.

They did not stop until they found themselves safely in the shadow of the forest eaves. By now, the drizzle had turned into large droplets falling heavily through the still mostly leafless branches, shaking the fresh buds. There, they dismounted and the prince's gloved hand picked such a bud from among the dead, rotting foliage coating the dark ground and absentmindedly examined the fragile thing bearing the color of Arthur's eyes. There had been something there, beyond the excited brightness of the boy's peridot orbs, something visible but for a fleeting moment, a hidden sadness, maybe even suffering, something dark and haunting which had been forever imprinted in Alfred's memory.

Sighing, Alfred sat down on a fallen trunk, slipping the small bud inside his leather jacket. Rain was soaking his hair and Advisor Wang's expensive robes, but the other didn't seem to mind as he joined him in silence.

"So, how to get to the bottom of this?" the bespectacled blond asked at last, staring awkwardly at his boots. "Questions will keep pouring and until I come up with an answer I know that I shall not be given rest. And if don't come up with an answer, people will end up concluding that it was just a trick to fend off the enemy for now and loathe me just the same. Besides, the concern remains – I am still without a Queen and the Whites may return anytime. And then what?"

"Hmm… I have pondered upon an explanation myself, Milord. Like I've already explained the King and the Queen, _that_ was some kind of sorcery. But there is no sorcerer in our kingdom, or I would have known. Maybe King Francis has enemies we know nothing of," Yao suggested.

The prince had not thought of that, but at any rate, it was an odd explanation. King Francis had risen from the Third of the White Kingdoms and slowly but surely had gotten his hands on all of them, under the pretense of a league. And once he'd had all the Whites under his command, there had been no stopping him. No one worthy had stood in his way as he'd begun his campaign towards the North, so Alfred had assumed all the other enemies of the White monarch had already been crushed.

"At any rate, Milord, you should consider beginning to seek a suitable bride – or groom – right away. I know that we've already turned our Kingdom inside out, but we'll ask in the remaining free Black Kingdoms. Surely there must be some worthy Northerner out there to occupy this position… " Yao paused, a scowl creeping onto his still handsome face at the sight of the blond's chagrined grimace. "As for this whole _other_ business, there is but one man I can think of who might be able to shed some light on things. Might, that is…"

Alfred looked up at last, uncertain and slightly hopeful.

"It is the sorcerer King Ivan Braginski of the Twelfth and the last of the Black Kingdoms. It is said that he sits on his throne in his frozen halls and watches the doings of the rest of the world through a magic mirror. But that might just be a fairytale. Very few people actually travel so far up North to visit him."

The prince snorted, sadly. "All I know of the man is what I've been told - that he is my uncle and that when he was still a young boy my father threw him out of our house because he feared his magic. So to put it plainly, he now dwells in that frozen hell because of my family. He probably hates my father with a passion and would never help me…"

To his surprise, Advisor Wang disagreed. "Milord, he is a full-fledged sorcerer now and sorcerers are not by nature so emotional people. They work if they are paid, and if they are not paid they do not work. How do you think he has managed to keep up his Kingdom? It's not like anything ever grows there, in the never melting snow and in the shadow of the mountains at the edge of the world."

At length, Alfred seemed to make up his mind, albeit frowning upon his very decision. "I will not travel so far up North chasing a fleeting dream only to face my uncle's disdain, or maybe even anger. Come, Advisor Wang, let's head back. It's time for you to find me a Queen."

* * *

Days passed, bleak and empty, as Advisor Wang gathered the various ambassadors and toiled upon correspondence. There were nine free Black Kingdoms left so in theory there were plenty of possibilities. Less in practice though – as it turned out the Northerners had always been more preoccupied with preserving noble bloodlines than finding suitable Queens according to the continental tradition. It was clearly a Black thing and – Alfred concluded - most likely the reason why the other three Black Kingdoms had fallen such easy prey to King Francis and his warrior Queen. And much to his horror the other advisors were keen on the idea as well.

"I thought that the court and the people expect of me to find a Queen who can protect our Kingdom. Now I'm hearing something quite different!" the prince pointed angrily. "So which one is it?!"

The King's first Advisor gracefully scratched his head. "Well, a warrior would be ideal, but… leaving 'ideal' aside, the court wants someone of noble blood, while the people just want you to get married. The people don't think too much, they just have this age-old belief that as long as there is a Queen, he or she will protect them."

The bespectacled blond rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's helpful!"

"The other advisors have selected this," the brunette said, picking an envelope which had been purposefully left aside on his desk, and held it up carefully, examining the seal. "The King Henry Zwingly of the Eighth Black Kingdom offers you the hand of his daughter, the Princess Lily." He unfolded the letter, eyes scanning quickly through the contents. "Oh, suck balls! It says she's fourteen and plays the harp!" Yao burst out before his shoulders sagged in utter disappointment.

"Fourteen? Oh Gods! What the hell is wrong with these people?!"

"She does have green eyes though…"

* * *

After the fruitless discussion, Alfred headed tiredly for his bed, tossing his mantle and jacket in a messy heap on the floor. Fingers worked impatiently to undo the button of his crisp white shirt, nearly making them pop, and the blond finally discarded the troublesome garment in the same time with kicking his boots off. Then he proceeded to collapse on the bed face down, ignoring the rather chill air in the room.

But suddenly the prince's ear caught a faint sound, like a soft rustle of fabric, and he jerked up, jumping off the bed in one fluid movement as his trained hand reached for the sword. His glasses were askew and he adjusted them nervously as he peered in the darkness of his own bedroom.

"W-who's there?" Alfred demanded, voice shaking slightly.

The rustle came a bit louder, this time accompanied by light clatter of steel rubbing on mail. The prince squinted, taking in the shadow which had drawn closer with soft, almost unheard steps.

"Arthur?"

A wry smile played on the green-eyed boy's lips in acknowledgement as he stepped into the pale moonlight pouring in through one tall, narrow window. The prince blinked, feeling breathless all the sudden. Whatever questions he'd been meaning to ask upon seeing the other had slipped away from his mind and he simply stood there bewitched. The sword fell from his limp hand with a dull thud as it hit the carpet.

"My King, I can only be with you but briefly," Arthur murmured, a pale hand reaching up to touch the taller blond's jaw. "If you will, help me out of my armor, it's quite heavy…"

Alfred couldn't resist the request, all the more since he guessed that under all those layers of metal, the boy's body was quite lean and fragile. Slightly nervous, he worked to unclasp the black mantle cast over iron, letting the heavy cloth drop to the ground. Eyes trained on Arthur's pale, unearthly handsome features, the prince allowed himself to draw a breath at last. It was a test, he guessed, but he'd watched the servants' toil carefully many times before.

Skilled hands slipped over his Queen's shoulders, tracing down his arms as the bespectacled blond pondered where to start. His eyes swept over the expanse of black steel, gleaming dimly in semi-obscurity before he dropped to his knees. He worked first on the poleyns and greaves, taking his time and letting his fingers wander over the black slacks underneath, along the slender legs. Arthur watched him shyly as the prince rose back up and busied himself with disposing of the heavy faulds, which soon fell with a clatter to join the other pieces on the floor. The straps of the cowters and the spaulders went easy, but the breastplate unexpectedly decided to 'put up a fight'.

Alfred let out a soft grunt, gaze narrowing in annoyance at the joints which stubbornly defied him. Green eyes shone with mirth and a light smile tugged at the corners of the smaller blond's lips as the prince stifled a swear. After a bit more toil the piece gave way at last and down it went, and he almost clawed impatiently at the hauberk, pulling it up and over the Queen's head in one move.

"There." he offered with a smirk, holding Arthur's hand and helping him step out of the pile of metal.

The prince began to feel the chill of the room prickling at his bare skin as the other's eyes trailed down over his torso in shy awe. Small, pearly white teeth nibbled at the boy's bottom lip as his gaze took in every muscle, appearing willing to commit it to memory.

"You are cold, my King," Arthur whispered, his hands sliding up and eventually resting on the taller blond's shoulders. He stood on tiptoes and craned his neck up, lower lip ghosting teasingly over the prince's before allowing his mouth to be captured into a searing kiss.

Alfred sat down on the bed, pulling his Queen to straddle his lap. His tongue slipped past the green-eyed boy's lips, exploring, as he nervously discarded his leather vest and sneaked his hands under the light shirt, seeking his skin. The prince's mouth then left a trail of kisses along the Queen's jaw, advancing down onto the pale neck, his nose nuzzling and relishing in the faint scent of wild herbs of the other'sskin.

"Are you pleased, my Queen?" he asked, lips moving softly against the crook of the boy's neck, conveniently exposed to his touch. He could tell that Arthur's body was already heating up, flesh beginning to be licked by the flames of desire. The blond got his answer when nimble fingers got hooked in his belt, pulling at it pleadingly.

"My King, take me."

Alfred's breath grew heavy as he gently began peeling off the boy's remaining clothes, as if he were unwrapping the most precious of gifts, dotting each new patch of exposed, velvet soft skin with butterfly kisses. His trembling fingers traveled almost shyly down the Queen's body, carefully feeling the delicate but still taut flesh, half seeking to make sure that it was all real, that his mysterious lover was indeed there, in his arms. As soon as they were both naked, the prince hastily pulled the covers over both of them. He could read the nervous anticipation in Arthur's large eyes as the Queen pulled him close, in a tight embrace, even trembling slightly.

The prince placed a soft peck first on his forehead and then on the tip of his nose. "Don't be afraid, I'll be very gentle…" In truth, Alfred didn't have an awful lot of experience himself, but he thought-

"No…" Arthur breathed against his lips. "I don't want you to be gentle! Be as rough as you like, be strong, be untamed, my King. I want to have your touch etched into my body…"

A slender leg went up over the taller blond's hip, emphasizing the request. Consequently, Alfred supposed his Queen knew what he was doing. His lust-clouded mind vaguely registered that clearly it wasn't so as he sank into the burning heat of the other's body, eliciting a loud yelp. He remained still, fighting the searing urge to move. He pressed his forehead against Arthur's as the other panted and bit on his own lower lip almost drawing blood.

"A-are you-…?"

"Mhph I'm fine… more… I want more…" the Queen moaned softly in reply, rolling his hips to encourage him to move at last. Alfred obliged, pulling back slightly and pushing in, sensuously, instinctively seeking that hidden spot which would bring his lover to ecstasy. The prince picked up the pace as the boy underneath him began meeting his thrusts, pleading for him to move faster and go deeper between wanton moans.

"T-there… ah… there…" Arthur panted with his eyes closed, one hand getting hold of the prince's and guiding it between their heated bodies, to his own throbbing need.

"I am yours, Alfred, my King," were the words the Queen murmured as the deal was finally sealed between them, sending the prince into blissful oblivion.

* * *

When the first rays of crude morning light teased his closed lids, Alfred already knew that the sheets beside him had long gone cold. He sat up and for a few moments simply hugged himself, as if like this he could somehow retain the touch of Arthur's wonderful body on his own skin. But then slowly, gradually, the dreamy expression he'd retained while still half asleep morphed into a deep scowl.

Tossing the covers aside, the blond quickly threw his clothes on, sheathed his sword and wrapped himself in a heavy travel cloak before storming out of his chambers. For some reason Advisor Wang already waited in the hallway with a handful of scrolls under his arm, but he was ignored.

'I am getting aggravated.' was the only explanation the prince offered Yao as he stalked past him in a hurry on his way out.

_**To be continued** _

A/N – Small description of armor pieces featured above, in case you are an armor freak like me, by any chance :):

_Hauberk_ \- Mail shirt reaching to the mid-thigh with sleeves.

_Faulds_ \- Bands to protect the front waist and hips, attached to cuirass.

_Cowter_ \- Plate that guards the elbow

_Spaulder_ \- Cover the shoulder (with a dome shaped piece called a shoulder cop), armpit and sometimes the back and chest.

_Poleyn_ \- Plate that covers the knee

_Greave_ \- Covers the lower leg, front and back, made from a variety of materials, but later most often plate.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was something soothing about the way the flames danced in the fireplace and the warm glow they bestowed upon the weary traveler, and the young prince was grateful as he sat down in front of them on a small stool, allowing his soaked travel cloak to dry. Outside the weather was nasty enough, with no signs of spring yet, an icy drizzle falling steadily, coating the roads in a sort of half-frozen mud. Driven by what could have easily been taken as a mindless impulse, Alfred had just rushed out through the door in the morning two days before, alone and awfully unprepared for the long and hard journey up North, towards the Twelfth and the last of the Black Kingdoms. He carried nothing but his weapons, very little money and his travel cloak. His clothes – he'd soon realised - were much too light for the ever worsening weather. Unlike in his own Kingdom, the more he advanced towards the Mountains-at-the-Edge-of-the-Word, the more winter still seemed to reign over everything, unyielding to spring.

Still keeping his hood on so not to risk recognition, however unlikely that was in that small, poorly kept inn, the bespectacled blond thanked the innkeeper for the bread, cheese and ale he was brought and returned to staring into the flames. There were very few others in the small hall mostly stuffed with worn wooden benches and tables, but he needn't look at them to see what he'd seen pretty much everywhere along the way – people were weary after the hard winter which refused to end and then there was the ever present talk of war. King Francis may have backed off from the Fourth Black Kingdom for now, but he'd not ceased his campaign. They figured he'd just go around and attack others instead, in search for easier prey.

And in the middle of all this trouble, Alfred had just up and left home without a word to anyone, not even to Advisor Wang, to go 'chase green horses up the wall', as his nanny had used to say when he was little. By all accounts, it was most irresponsible on his behalf, even a bit insane, but he knew one thing – the moment he'd touched Arthur Whatever-the-little-bastard's-name-was's lips there had been no more choice, no way back. The green-eyed boy was the one destined to stand by his side and he was going to do anything to find him, whatever it took…

* * *

It was getting worse and worse. The road was difficult and it was just so _damn_ cold! He'd found no more inns to stay in for the last one day and a half, so he'd kept going, only allowing short breaks for the horse to rest. A rough blanket he'd bought along the way covered the poor animal's back, secured beneath the saddle, but it still trembled, strong, well-defined muscles rippling under the soft skin from time to time. Alfred's own gloved hands shook slightly as he took out the map for the umpteenth time to check that they were going in the right direction and, as he stood there beside his tired horse in what looked like the beginning of a blizzard, he cursed King Francis and his Queen, his stupid court advisors, his own shitty luck and last but not least his sorcerer uncle Ivan and his _fucking_ kingdom in earnest. Somehow, that made the prince feel a bit better.

After going for another half-hour through the nasty weather, the snow storm seemed to lessen a bit. Alfred saw that he'd reached a stone wall, thick but not very tall, marking the borders of the Seventh of the Black Kingdoms. Unlike the White Kingdoms which were spread on the continent in a relative order, the northerners were scattered randomly (pretty much like everything they did). Beyond the wall unfolded the land of the never ending winter – the Twelfth Black Kingdom. Alfred let his gaze wander onto the vast expanse of white, snow covered fields, crossed by a single broad cobblestoned road which began from the small gate in the wall and advanced sinuously, eventually being lost into the misty horizon.

Reckoning he had no other choice but to follow it, the prince gently spurred his horse past the gate and went down the only path lying ahead. Soon, the wind ceased to blow altogether, but the cold deepened. Now it was absolutely freezing. The only advantage was that the road had been built high enough from the rest of the ground and with edges on the sides, so it was neatly covered by a layer of trodden snow – a strange indication that it was either being kept that way or used often, seeing how it snowed regularly in these parts – and that made travelling easy.

Struggling to keep his mind off more pressing and concerning matters – such as whether his uncle would be willing to help him (or even willing to see him at all), since it was by no means a given – the bespectacled blond looked around, taking in every detail and genuinely curious if there was anything else to this kingdom aside from snowy fields, random bits of leafless forest, ice and this insufferable, biting cold. Surely there were people living here, just like in the other kingdoms. And indeed, soon enough he saw that further ahead there were more stone paths, lower and narrower, ramifying from the main road on both sides and leading away, towards what appeared to be various estates looming in the distance, shrouded in white mist. Maybe to call them 'estates' was a bit of an overstatement, but anyway, the houses looked like smaller fortified castles, built of hard stone and surrounded by what appeared to be solid walls. Strange enough, there were no cottages around, no dependencies, barns or stables, anything that would have indicated how these people made their living. He remembered Yao Wang saying that here it was always winter and the snow never melted.

They were making it somehow though, because at some point, when he passed one such building which was located very closely to the main road, a vague but distinctive smell of steak and what seemed to be freshly baked bread wafted towards Alfred's nostrils. An old, rusty iron gate creaked unexpectedly and an old woman, tightly wrapped in a black woolen shawl, emerged and glanced up and down the road with vulture-like eyes. Her gaze landed on the weary prince and she gave him a curious once-over with the look of someone who'd found a trinket by the side of the road and picks it up to examine it briefly, but already with half a mind to throw it away afterwards.

"You smell of South," the hag stated, as soon as the prince was within earshot.

A cold shiver (if that was even possible at this point) crept down Alfred's spine at hearing this. Somehow what the woman had said had sounded to him like 'you smell delicious'. How rude, at any rate. Did all Twelfthers have such an unpleasant and suspicious air about them? Was King Ivan like this too?

"My lady, forgive m-my intrusion…" he stuttered awkwardly. "Could you please direct me to the King's castle?"

"Past that hill and into the valley, down at the big lake. Further ahead," the hag replied quickly, waving a dry, claw-like hand in the general direction of the road. "Can't miss it, no one does." Saying that, she rapidly marched back inside and forcefully slammed the iron gate in her wake.

Blinking and still a bit startled from the peculiar encounter, the blond did notice that ahead the road went up a bit, then disappeared from sight, probably down the other slope of said hill. By the sound of it - he thought spurring the horse to go a bit faster – it appeared that King Ivan had plenty of visitors. Maybe he was busy? Would he have to wait his turn? Well, no point asking himself all those questions now, after he'd made it this far.

And indeed, once he made it up to the top of the hill, Alfred saw the slope descending into a large valley, past which one could see in the foot of the mountains in the far distance. And there, towering on the shore of a wide, frozen lake, there was the castle. Majestic and absolutely breathtaking, with countless towers, arches and decorations and made not of hard stone, but… of sparkling, silvery ice. He stared in complete awe for a few moments, unable to comprehend how such a thing was even possible. But obviously, this thing was possible for the same reason he had traveled all the way there, at a really bad time no less – because his uncle was a sorcerer.

* * *

The prince dismounted and led the weary horse across the bridge to the main gate and looked around, unsure what to do. There was no one in sight – no guards up the wall or onto the ramparts of the heavy, massive gate. Odd. Taking a deep breath, the blond slammed his gloved fist into the hard ice a few times, highly doubtful of the usefulness of his action. But to his surprise, the gate almost instantly began to lift, with a sinister creak.

Pulling the reins cautiously, Alfred stepped into the vast courtyard, covered in a thick layer of fresh snow but otherwise very neat in appearance. No one here either. The prince sighed, turning to pat the neck of his horse. The poor animal would have needed to be taken somewhere inside, out of this accursed cold, fed and allowed to rest. Hell, _he_ would have needed the same. He decided that King Ivan's lack of staff was quite disturbing.

Reluctantly concluding there was no other option, he tied the horse to a pole and walked up to the main entrance. Again the doors mysteriously opened in front of him, as if he'd been expected. Maybe his uncle did expect him, Alfred pondered, a sorcerer would have known he was coming, right? He looked around, finding himself in a vast hallway, decorated with all sorts of statues and sculpted columns, intricate stairways leading to the upper levels, everything made of the purest ice and gleaming in a soft, pale blue light cast by peculiar torches. His best guess was however the massive double doors at the far end of the hallway and he headed in that direction with large strides, doing his best to ignore the eeriness of the place.

These doors would not open by themselves though, so the bespectacled blond pushed them a bit and poked his head inside what appeared to be the throne room. He almost jumped noticing that there was someone in here for a change – a man stood in front of a large side window, observing something with interest and quite oblivious to his presence. The man was tall, with ashen blond hair and appeared to have quite a solid built. Like all nobles and royalty of the North, he wore black clothing, but a silvery mantle edged with white fur hung on his broad shoulders. His right hand held the most peculiar scepter – made of a sort of bluish steel and oddly resembling a pipe with a faucet onto the upper end.

However, the prince's observations were abruptly cut short when someone pushed past him, nearly knocking him off his feet. A young girl in a midnight blue velvet dress and with waist-length icy blonde hair burst into the room and rushed towards the man at the window with an air of absolute determination.

"Brother! Brother, you can't hide from me! Marry me! Now!" she hissed suddenly, menacingly.

The ashen blond wheeled around, large purple eyes bearing a startled and annoyed expression. "No!" he retorted, the scepter pointed as if to halt the girl's advance. But she didn't stop and a silvery lightning bold erupted from the odd instrument, hitting her and causing her to be instantly transformed into a fluffy white dog. But the little dog shot up and bit the King's leg just above the hem of his boot.

"Aaaaahh!" Ivan yelped, stumbling and struggling to shake off the nasty creature which now seemed hell-bent on tearing his leg. "Toris! Raivis! Where the hell is everyone?!" he yelled, banging into the wall with his weird scepter.

Good question, the prince thought, as two more people rushed into the room shortly after. At least this time he'd been inspired enough to step aside and move out of the way, because these two didn't seem to notice him either. One was a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and the other a little blond boy. Both wore similar black clothing with some silvery decorations and worriedly hurried to the task of helping the King, mumbling unintelligible apologies.

Finally the little dog was removed and the King collapsed on his throne with an air of exhaustion, sighing deeply. "Hell, it's like crazy in here…"

"Milord, you nephew – the Prince Alfred of the Seventh of the Black Kingdoms - is here to see you," a voice announced solemnly and the prince now spotted a third man, a slender, somewhat rigid icy blond with silver rimmed spectacles and holding what appeared to be a ledger. When the hell had he entered? Had he appeared out of thin air? Weird…

King Ivan nodded slowly, purple eyes taking in Alfred for the first time. The prince bowed, a bit apprehensive under his uncle's gaze, then looked up to assess the impression he'd made. To his relief, there was no apparent hostility in the other's expression. If anything, the King seemed slightly curious.

"Sire, please forgive my intrusion," the prince said, to his dismay his voice sounding weak and raspy. "I just… well… burst in here uninvited, when in fact I didn't even know… well… if you'd speak to me at all," Alfred said plainly. Better to address the elephant in the room.

"Why would I not speak to you?" To his surprise, the King's voice was soft, pleasant even.

The bespectacled blond drew a breath. "Well… because of my father."

Ivan nodded slowly this time, appearing thoughtful. "But you are not your father, da," he said eventually. "Are you here on his behalf, though? With this… war upon all of us…" Clearly the King mentioned it out of politeness, he really didn't appear to think that said war was in any way upon _him_ for one. He was probably right to feel safe in this frozen middle-of-nowhere, but if King Francis was to really keep his word and conquer the _whole_ continent, the dismal appearance of Ivan Braginski's kingdom wasn't probably going to deter him.

Suddenly, Alfred felt a bit ashamed. It seemed that even his uncle thought that he should have been concerned with the war – the pressing matter at hand. How could he then say why he was really here, the reason why he'd left home in such a moment? What would his uncle think of it? But then again, how had Yao put it? Sorcerers weren't by nature so emotional so perhaps they weren't that judgmental either… 'They work if they are paid and if they are not paid they do not work'. Oh Hell, the prince realised – he only had very little money left, not that he'd taken too much with him to begin with! He could only hope his uncle would agree to a later settlement.

"My dear nephew, I must say you look kind of haggard," Ivan observed. "Has anything happened to you?"

The King snapped his fingers and the weird servants popped out of nowhere again, bringing a chair for Alfred to sit in. The blond collapsed in it, at last overwhelmed by fatigue. He'd not paused from his journey for almost two days, he'd not slept, eaten or drunk. But now there was nothing left to feel but the sheer exhaustion. That and he still felt chilled to the bone, despite it not being so cold inside the castle. Ivan continued to observe him with concern, as the small boy from earlier brought the prince a cup of clear liquid and motioned him to drink.

Alfred thought some water would help, at least with his dry lips and raspy voice, so he hastily took a hearty gulp. It wasn't water. The fiery liquid burned down his throat like hell, making him cough and his eyes water, but at least a pleasant warmth spread through his entire body.

"Vodka is good, da?" the ashen blond asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Now… tell me."

The prince panted a bit to catch his breath. "Actually, no…" he confessed. Where to start? He figured he might as well do some small talk first, it was the polite thing to do."Well, Sire, I had a bit of a tough journey, but truly, your kingdom is beautiful. Your people look prosperous too… although my advisor had mentioned something like the snow never melting here. I found it peculiar, to be honest. How could one grow crops or keep cattle in his kind of weather, if it were indeed permanent?"

"Oh, that is true, it is always winter here. But, my dear nephew, Gods forbid that sorcerers grow crops, care for cattle or do any sort of work of that kind, da," Ivan laughed. "That is not what we do here. Advisor Wang – I still happen to remember the man – must have told you that, da?"

The bespectacled blond nodded. "Yes… yes he did, Sire. In fact, that is why I came to you. Um… you mentioned the war earlier. Well, King Francis came at our very doorstep. And, well… here's the other thing – I don't have a… I mean to say I'm not married yet. So I don't have a Queen."

Ivan looked surprised." But do you need a Queen already? Your father still rules and he's got your mother, doesn't he?"

"Uh, yes, but… you know what the continental tradition says… about the warrior Queens and all. My mother is hardly that kind of Queen and now in times of need people expect me to… find a proper Queen. " Just as he was speaking, it occurred to the prince that his uncle didn't seem to be married either. "Are you married, Sire?"

The King waved his hand dismissively. "No, and I don't plan to either. Wives are troublesome and my nerves are fragile, da. Have enough loons on my head as it is. Besides, I couldn't care any less about any stupid continental traditions. We sorcerers are pariahs anyway here in the North so we can do whatever we want."

Good for them, Alfred thought morosely, recalling how his own people had looked at him on the eve of battle. He'd almost feared they'd throw rotten eggs at him. For some reason he doubted anyone would have dared to throw rotten eggs at Ivan Braginski just because he wasn't married. Or for any other reason.

"King Francis said that a King showing up on a battlefield without a Queen is like showing up without pants on," he stated.

This time not only Ivan, but his servants laughed too.

"Oh, my dear boy, the man speaks the truth, da. It's plain to see that the _tradition_ everyone is so keen about was established by monarchs like himself – useless idiots who cannot do anything on their own. As far as I'm concerned, he is more than welcome to come here and kiss my pantless arse!"

At least his uncle agreed with him on that matter. "Right… so there he was, threatening and mocking me for not having a Queen and then…" To the best of his knowledge, Alfred delivered a detailed account of the mysterious Black Queen's arrival and deeds, emphasizing the lack of explanation he'd received as to the man's identity and carefully leaving out any mention of their second encounter. As he spoke, he couldn't help noticing that all amusement disappeared from Ivan's expression, which quite on the contrary, seemed to darken with every word.

"So anyway, the actual reason I came is that Advisor Wang said you're the only one able to shed some light in the matter. I want… no, I _need_ to know who Arthur is and I must find him again. Can you help me? Do you have any idea who he might be?"

The King, who at this point had slouched in his seat and had one hand tightly pressed upon his forehead, sighed. "Oh yes… don't we know Arthur. Though with all our hearts we wish we hadn't, da."

_**To be continued** _


	4. Chapter 4

By all means, Ivan Braginski's words had sounded quite ominous, but there was something, like a lightheadedness plaguing the young prince and making him ignore that for the most part. The most important thing was that his uncle knew Arthur! And if he knew… Alfred's wish could come true, he could find the boy and he could-…. Well, he didn't know right now exactly what he could, but it was a start, anyway.

"Now, I suppose that your father's fear and repulsion towards all things magical have prevented Yao Wang from teaching you anything about the world and history of sorcerers, da?" the King stated, appearing thoughtful.

The prince frowned slightly – the Advisor had told him a few things and yes, probably against King Thorne's wishes, but… 'the world and history of sorcerers' sounded like a big thing, or at least comprehensive. Maybe it was important too. He hated that he'd have to show ignorance in the matter.

"Yao told me the story of a sorcerer named Osmanthus," the blond began, uncertain."He… when the world was young, there was this great sorcerer who lived on an island away from the continent, but who watched over the harmony of the Black and the White Kingdoms, or something… and there, on that island, he founded a city bearing his name where he gathered other sorcerers. That's about it, I'm afraid." He paused and sighed. From all of Yao's lessons, Alfred had found this one to be one of the most entertaining, and he would have liked to know a lot more about Osmanthus and sorcerers in general, but sadly the Advisor didn't know too much. Or he wouldn't tell.

"That's true, da." Ivan confirmed. "What about the Order of the Mages?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Well, look over there."

The King waved his scepter in the direction of the large window which he had seemed to study with so much interest earlier. Beyond the frosty glass the prince could see the wide lake at the foot of the mountains, the whole landscape covered in a thick layer of snow. But as Ivan spoke, the image began to move oddly, as if the castle itself had begun to fly – the view swept past the frozen expanse of water and over the hills Alfred had crossed to get there, advancing gradually towards the south. It left behind the borders of the Twelfth Kingdom, moving faster and faster until it became a blur of forests, towns, walls, plains, hills and valleys until it reached the shores of the sea. And then there was nothing but endless, blue water sparkling under generous rays of sun, making the Nordic winter seem like nothing more than a bad dream.

"The sorcerer Osmanthus - probably the only one with a clear head in the whole history of magic– understood the importance of keeping the harmony of the Kingdoms, da, since he himself hailed from the continent, or so it is said. Anyhow, his political involvement at the time could not be denied," the ashen blond explained. "In his later years he retreated to the place now known as the Isle of Osmanthus, where – knowing that someone ought to carry on his task after his death – he founded the Order of the Mages, which has endured until this day. The Order is led by The Three – the Blue Mage, the Green Mage and the Red Mage, who are selected every five hundred years under the direct supervision of Osmanthus' spirit itself."

Alfred saw that now the mirror had reached the shores of what appeared to be indeed an island. He saw a large, crowded harbor with countless vessels of all sizes and shapes and past that unfolded a mighty fortified city, with white walls and buildings and dotted with luxurious vegetation, basking in bright sunlight.

"Is this the Isle of Osmanthus?" the bespectacled blond asked, standing from his seat and walking over to the glass to see better. "Ohh… it's beautiful and it looks like… well… like it's summer there," he observed.

"It is always summer there," the King replied, somewhat morosely. "Anyway…"

He waved his scepter some more and the view moved again, heading towards a particular stone tower upon which it closed in. Now it showed a small terrace clad in rich ivy and pleasantly shadowed by the large branches of a nearby tree. On the terrace, sitting on colorful pillows around a low table there were three blond boys in silk garments, colored in blue, green and red. And suddenly Alfred's breath caught in his throat – one of them was Arthur.

"And these are the Three Mages who lead the Order," Ivan pointed. "The one you met – Arthur Kirkland – is the Green Mage," he added, motioning towards the young mage clad in a pale green tunic.

But the prince was hardly paying attention anymore, staring in awe at the one he'd been seeking. Arthur and the boy in red, who also had bright red eyes and a more strawberry shade of blond hair, were playing some sort of game with odd pieces on a board, while the third boy, in dark blue and with pale blonde strands held back on one side by a silver, cross-shaped hairclip was sitting aside, holding a large book in his lap. Strangely enough, his fingers slid onto the pages, but his midnight blue eyes did not look at them, instead having an odd, aloof stare.

Arthur's brow was furrowed in concentration, golden strands ruffled by nervous fingers as he watched the board. "You bloody bastard! You cheated again!" he suddenly yelled, slamming his fist on the side of the table.

The strawberry blond laughed loudly in reply, showing surprisingly sharp teeth. "You always say that, ha, ha, ha. Now pay up!" he said, to which the Green Mage pulled out a cane from under the table and unceremoniously hurled it towards the other's head, missing roughly.

"Idiots…" stated the boy with the book.

"So… the mages protect the harmony of the Black and White Kingdoms, right?" the prince asked rather dreamily, his gaze still glued to the mirror and to Arthur, who was now caught up in a heated argument and apparently hell-bent on refusing to pay his game debt.

Behind him, King Ivan Braginski rolled his eyes blatantly. "Does it look to you like there's an awful lot of harmony on the continent right now, my dear nephew?" he asked gently, yet unable to keep a certain irony out of his voice.

Alfred's eyes were still trained upon the enchanted glass, his mind barely registering what his uncle was saying. So, Arthur was a mage, a sorcerer. He'd suspected as much from the beginning but… it didn't change anything. However, he'd come all this way to hear all that King Ivan had to say about it, so he might as well find out all there was to know.

"So… you're saying that the Order of the mages is failing at its duty? Or that… they are in fact evil?"

The prince frowned a bit, so the story went that Osmanthus had been concerned with the welfare of the Kingdoms, but there was a reason why sorcerers were generally dreaded, wasn't there? His father had had reason enough to throw his much younger brother and now apparently a younger sister too in the streets and leave them to their fate because they had magic powers. The bespectacled blond turned around slightly and saw the King chewing on his lip, as if struggling for words, while exchanging a few quick glances with his secretary.

"Why do you ask?" Ivan said at last, momentarily for lack of a better answer.

"Why do I-…? Alfred stopped short, suddenly realising that he'd never given his uncle a reason as to why he'd been in such a frenzy to get to the bottom of such an apparently unimportant thing, just now when he should have had more pressing concerns. "Well, I… um… he helped me and I'm… I'm grateful, that's all. So, if the mages are wicked, then I just don't understand why a wicked sorcerer would ever bother to help anyone…"

The ashen blond's eyebrows shot up and he blinked a couple of times, but in the end he nodded. "Clearly, that would not make sense." He then paused for a bit, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Well, actually it's like this – I suppose that before the battle you prayed to the Gods for help, da? Because when one prays to the Gods with all their heart, sometimes the three mages can hear them and they might decide to… get involved. However, the results are – more often than not – absolutely screwed. For example, my sister Natalya prayed to find a great love and as you could see for yourself earlier, that one went very wrong. In fact, it has gone so wrong that even with my powers I could not fix it, da."

The young prince shook his head and took a hearty gulp from his cup. "It can't be that bad! Arthur fought the White Queen and made the White King withdraw his troops! At least for now… And before he came people were almost throwing rotten tomatoes at me," he pointed.

"And now they almost throw eggs, da?" Ivan offered innocently."Not to mention, now even your parents have gotten suspicious as to why you wouldn't marry and all the dots were erroneously connected in the worst way possible. I'm not denying that there was a good side to it, but overall this whole affair was a very unfortunate development."

Clearly. But well… people made mistakes, didn't they? His uncle may have had a point, but all three mages were quite young, even younger than Alfred himself, so yeah… maybe sometimes they made a mess out of things.

"I know," he said, "But… I can't just go home and do what my father's advisors want - I can't marry the Princess Lily Zwingly. She's a child! The thing is… I thought, well, after the battle I thought t-that-…" the blond paused, taking a deep breath. "I thought Arthur would be the Queen I need," he blurted out at last, glancing away to the window which had now returned to its usual state, showing the large frozen lake.

The King gasped, his hand flying to his mouth on impulse, but then discreetly settled for pinching his nose as he obviously fought back laughter. It was but shortly though, before he sighed, his serious expression returning. Ivan stood up from his throne and sauntered slowly until he reached the young prince and raised his hand, resting it on the other blond's shoulder.

"My dear nephew, I am sorry that you have been burdened with responsibilities beyond your years, especially since your Kingdom _already has_ a King and a Queen, da. Your father is not too old as everyone claims – these lands have seen much older kings ride in battle – but unfortunately he is weak. He's always been, da, and now it's up to you to make up for his weakness. But yes, the Princess Lily Zwingly is much too young and you are strong enough not to need to hide behind anyone. Do not trouble yourself with finding a spouse just yet, da… And please, you must forget about the mages. It's a complicated story but… becoming a mage is not a matter of choice. They have a twisted mind and deep down they are full of hatred for this world, because their lives have been stolen and their bodies crippled for the sole purpose of serving it. You must stay away from them, or nothing but misfortune will come out of this."

* * *

After that the King Ivan Braginski had taken his nephew to lunch, and they'd been joined by Natalya – now returned to human form and a milder mood – and yet another younger sister, Yekaterina. Much to Alfred's relief, little had been spoken of their older brother, but his uncle and aunts had a deep affection for his mother and they spoke of her fondly. The bespectacled blond strongly suspected that the Queen (and probably Advisor Yao Wang too) had tried to convince his father to give up his harsh decision at the time. Ivan was still a young man himself, and the prince had a hard time imagining how he could have, as a young boy, managed to make a living on his own while dragging two very small girls along in the same time. Hell, Natalya for one must have been almost a baby! That until they'd reached the Twelfth Kingdom and, thanks to the powers they possessed, all three siblings had been adopted by a local family of sorcerers.

Caught up in their story, Alfred had all but forgotten about the three mages he'd been shown earlier, but then Yekaterina had mentioned how lucky they'd all been, as magical children, to have escaped being selected by Osmanthus to join his Order. He'd asked no more about it at the time, but he figured it must have been a bad thing and now, as he lay in bed staring at the beautiful, sparkly ice ceiling unable to sleep, the prince was once more plagued by dark thoughts.

Now that some light had been shed on things, he could understand some part of it. The sadness he'd read in Arthur's eyes, his hidden shyness despite the tough front, his sheer surprise that Alfred had showed him kindness after his battle with the White Queen – now it all made sense. The mages had been undoubtedly forced into serving within the Order and, while his uncle had not explained what he'd meant when he'd said that 'their lives had been stolen and their bodies crippled' – Arthur looked healthy enough, maybe a little on the thin side – the blond now knew that the green-eyed boy was sad because he was alone, unloved and suffering.

Decidedly, the prince couldn't sleep, so he silently got out of the bed and threw his cloak over his shoulders. Strange enough, it wasn't as cold as he'd thought inside King Ivan's ice castle, but still, the heavy cloth brought him comfort. With light steps, he crossed the moonlight-bathed bedroom and made his way out on the balcony, letting himself prey to the chilly winter air. But then, suddenly, his attention was drawn to the sound of voices coming from below and he peered over the railing, seeing his uncle together with his secretary – whose name was apparently Lord Eduard von Bock - seated into the balcony below, in front of a most peculiar, blue-flamed fire burning in a large… box of sorts.

A fire, no matter how odd, would have been good now, Alfred thought, hugging himself under the cloak, but the two men had piqued his curiosity and he wanted to know what matter was so important that his uncle had to discuss it with his secretary in the middle of the night, possibly away from prying ears too.

"Milord, you have not told Prince Alfred all there is about the mages, have you?" Lord von Bock asked.

Ivan shook his head slowly. "What need would have been to fill his head with all this bullshit? They've aroused enough interest in him as it is I fear, after all they're very mysterious and fascinating, da."

"You think, Milord?"

"Oh yes. I wasn't born yesterday and I could see for myself that that Kirkland boy has made quite an impression. But Alfred is yet too young to have learned that behind all enchanting mysteries there's usually a very big shit, ready to blow into the faces of the unsuspecting. Not to mention, my sorcerer honor keeps me from divulging too much about them, da, and I have revealed enough already by letting Alfred see them. After all, their lame pretense at neutrality towards the Black and White Kingdoms relies heavily on the fact that even though they 'see' a lot of people, very few actually know their real names or how they look like, da. "

The secretary stared into the pale blue flames, thoughtful. "Then King Francis never knew what hit him, "he observed, "but now I understand. You know that the Red Mage is actually a prince of one of the White kingdoms which Francis has appropriated by force and, while the mages have not openly declared themselves against his conquest campaign – as they should have - I've heard that they demanded a material compensation on behalf of their right upon that kingdom…"

Ivan chuckled, stretching his legs. "But I suppose that being the arrogant prick that he is, Francis has refused to pay and now the Green Mage has personally come to thwart him, da. However, since the mages are so subtle and are careful never to deal a 'direct' blow, he may not get the message and pay. And if he doesn't pay, he'll only cross them further, da."

"So what will they do?"

"The Whites have given up on the Fourth Kingdom for now, but they will continue their campaign somewhere else. However, I doubt that the mages will take turns and resort to the same trick twice. No, the shrewd little bastards will think of something else, I'm sure they are resourceful enough. That being said, there is a chance that Francis may not make it to our borders after all, da." the King said, with a satisfied smirk.

At this point Alfred decided to return to bed and finally get some rest – he'd heard enough of politics to have his head spinning and he was chilled to the bone, too. Soundlessly, he crept back inside his room and under the soft covers, and was soon gripped by a death-like sleep.

_**To be continued** _


	5. Chapter 5

_Lukas - Norway_

_Valentin – Romania_

_Allistor - Scotland_

* * *

A somewhat cool breeze inflated the silk curtains, bringing into the room a waft of the salty sea air and making the hot atmosphere a bit more bearable. It was late afternoon and Arthur would have liked to just take a nap curled up onto the soft cushions, instead of being forced to listen to endless talks of politics. The stunts he'd pulled lately had taken a toll on his magic and he'd spent more than a few days just sleeping to recover, but now he felt a different kind of exhaustion. Maybe if he rested some more, he would have been be able to get his mind off fair Prince Alfred. For the most part, that was.

"It appears that King Francis failed to get the message," Valentin said, his pale hand crumpling the piece of parchment he was currently holding and tossing it aside. "He is still refusing to pay what he owes! You know, this irks me terribly, after all the Ninth of the White Kingdoms is mine!"

Across from him, Lukas was scribbling in an odd fashion, maneuvering the quill with one hand while the fingers of the other were feeling the paper down, where he was about to write. "That if you had ever been entitled to exert you royal rights in the first place," he snorted lightly."But then again, to rule can prove quite troublesome. It's better to just collect a regular payment instead. As for King Francis – the nerve of that bastard, his campaign alone is reason enough for us to hammer him into the ground!"

"Well we're not doing it, are we?" Arthur supplied. He genuinely wondered what Osmanthus would have done, since there were so many contradictions in the very rules the ancient sorcerer had set. How could one keep the peace _and_ maintain neutrality? Well, for one, by stabbing troublemakers in the back – it had been all they could think of. Clearly they hadn't done so enough with King Francis of the White Kingdoms.

"We'll just have to think of something else and-" the Red Mage said, but the pale blond interrupted.

"Like what, more ways to waste our time? Because to be honest, the last one…" He left his words hanging suggestively while he paused. "It barely accomplished anything and it only risked unnecessary _exposure_."

The green-eyed blond grit his teeth and contemplated picking up one of the thick tomes lying around on the table and throwing it in the Blue Mage's head. But then hitting an unsuspecting, blind man would have just been too much…

"I was born in the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms," he hissed instead. "My family is there!" The truth was, he barely remembered his family, but nevertheless, they were there and he would protect them if it was in his power. And then there was the prince-… No, he should really stop thinking about the prince, preferably right now!

"The Order is your family now, Arthur Kirkland," Lukas pointed dryly. "It's concerning to see that after so many years you have still not understood that much."

He knew why the other mage was being so poisonous – Lukas' whole family had been slaughtered in a raid just before his selection and he must have been plagued by that particular memory ever since, on top of always being fearful that someday their palace was going to be attacked – if they weren't careful and let too much information about themselves and the Order slip to the outside world – and they'd all be killed in the same way.

"And about that episode, I think there is also another matter-" the pale blond went on, but Arthur picked up his cane and hauled himself to his feet, deciding he'd heard just about enough. It was one of those days when his legs did not really help, but he was determined to get out of there and leave the other talking, even if it was a rather futile way of showing disapproval. Odds were against the green-eyed blond though and, as he struggled to hurry towards the door, a treacherous rug made him trip and he fell down on his knees with a thud which did not escape Lukas.

"You may have fooled the Prince Alfred with your warrior look – enough for him to give you his lips - but if only he could see you now…"

The Green Mage's fingers clenched into the carpet helplessly and he blinked back tears, refusing to turn around or to give any reply to this. It was true though and it made his stomach cringe to imagine that the man who had held him so lovingly could ever see him for what he really was. Fortunately, there was no way it would ever happen.

"Why can't you just shut up for once, Lukas? Arthur just wanted some fun, give him a break, yeah?"

But Lukas set his quill down slowly and then slammed his hands onto the table brusquely, forcefully. "Some fun?! As if I'd buy that! One can have plenty of 'fun' with all the whores, the sailors and pirates down at the harbor, but Alfred son of Thorne is a _prince_! No, I know what this is… But just drill this into your thick skulls – no lord and no prince of the continent would _ever_ think of taking as their spouse a blind man, a cripple or someone who coughs as if they had a foot in the grave!"

Oh by the Gods, not this again… For some reason the Blue Mage took a twisted pleasure in constantly reminding them of their curses, as if they could ever forget! 'For one's great power, one shall suffer great humility'. The blue-eyed boy from the Second of the White Kingdoms had taken Osmanthus' words to heart more than anyone else.

Valentin grabbed his wine cup and threw the contents in Lukas' face without hesitation. "I don't have a foot in the grave, you fucking bastard!"

"You disgusting drunkard!" the Blue Mage replied, hastily wiping wine off his face with the back of his hand.

"Who are you calling a drunkard?!" the strawberry blond yelled in reply, clenching his fists, but immediately after a nasty coughing fit shook his lean frame, so bad that it forced him down on his back on the cushions, and he was left lying there wheezing when it was eventually over.

Lukas shook his head. "Both of you. When I was first brought here you two were so drunk that you thought I was a girl. And you were barely eight years old… And it only went 'better and better' from there."

Gripping the edge of the table with both hands, Valentin managed to haul himself up to a sitting position, while throwing a glare the other was unable to see. "Well we still think you're a girl, look how pestering you are! You're worse than any woman I can think of!"

Arthur sighed, having managed to crawl over to the door in the meantime. They'd had this type of insulting sessions before and it usually got them nowhere. At the mere snap of his fingers a solid servant appeared and the sorcerer asked to be carried back to his room. Before today's meeting, all he'd wanted was to get some more rest in the peace and quiet of his apartments, but now even that simple pleasure had been spoiled. Now the blasted Blue Mage had caught wind of his innocent flirting and – being the absolute troll that he was, albeit disguised as a fairy prince – he would be watching him carefully… _And_ he would never hear the end of this.

Once seated onto his low bed, the green-eyed boy stretched his legs – damn it was one of those days when his knees were hurting too, all the more now that he'd taken a fall – and glanced outside his window, which opened over one of the interior gardens. It was a relaxing view most of the times, but now Lukas and Valentin had moved outside and they continued to argue loudly, oblivious that the Lesser Mages around were hearing first-hand all the shit they were throwing at each other.

A servant girl walked in with light steps and placed a cup of iced tea on the small table next to his bed and then took a hasty bow. "Is there anything else I can get you, Master?" she chirped shyly, keeping her eyes down.

Arthur turned lazily and chewed his lower lip briefly, thoughtful. "Say, would you happen to know where my Lesser Mages lurk at his hour?"

The girl nodded.

"Send the Fire Mage over, please, then. I'd like to have a word with him…"

* * *

Liking to have a word with Allistor the Fire Mage was obviously a figure of speech. The green-eyed boy was unable to comprehend why the most annoying and rebellious of the Lesser Mages had to work under him, of all people, but like in all matters it was thus that the spirit of Osmanthus had decided.

No one would have ever thought Allistor was a mage by the way he looked – tall and with a rather solid and muscular build, his fiery red hair short but wild and his leather clothes always in some sort of disarray. One could easily mistake him for a pirate or even the unruly son of a lord, all muscle and less wits about him, only his dark green eyes betraying the man's cunning and mischievous nature. Also, because he was a Lesser Mage, his body had not been plagued with any major curse either – only most of the times he was deaf as a boot.

Allistor sauntered into the room and, following the calling gesture of the Green Mage's fingers, he plopped down on the cushions near the bed uninvited, a large obnoxious grin plastered onto his face.

"Wha' is it, mah wee bun?"

Generally, the Lesser Mages ought to have been more respectful when addressing him, however back when he was still at the beginning – and it had been many years ago, for fuck's sake! – Arthur had accidentally transformed himself into a cute little rabbit in the Fire Mage's presence no less, and now Allistor was exploiting it to no end. That and being the horrid pain in the ass that he was, the redhead never missed an opportunity to tease him. What a dismal perspective, for one to be stuck with these loons for five hundred years!

Scowling slightly, Arthur took his eyes off the garden where the two other mages continued to argue and assumed a pensive countenance. "You know, earlier today the Blue Mage said something along the lines of one being able to have 'plenty of fun with all the whores, the sailors and pirates down at the harbor'… I was quite surprised that he would suggest such a thing," he said innocently, his peridot eyes watching the other mage intently.

Allistor's grin vanished. "Ye don't reckon he was talkin' about me? Was he suggestin' tha'? Fer ah know nothin' about it!"

"Ah no, he said it in general," the blond clarified."Which makes me wonder whether he might have spoken from his own experience. Indeed, Allistor, my interest has been piqued by this matter and you know how curious I am, right? So, since you're wasting most of your time around here in a spectacular fashion, I want you to keep a close eye on the Blue Mage. Watch him at all times and be especially mindful of when he sneaks outside the palace, because I'm sure that he does."

"But wha' if his Lesser Mages watch his back, then wha'? Besides, the man himself ain't tha' dense either! Do ye think ah could just sneak behind his back like tha' an' no one will notice? And ye know how Master Lukas is when he gets angry…"

Arthur waved his hand dismissively, irked once more that the Fire Mage could not just follow a simple order without throwing some comment of his own and doubting what he was told. "His Lesser Mages happen to dread him, so they wouldn't dream of thwarting you, even assuming he trusts them with his secrets. As for the rest, you'll manage," he said with a hint of benevolent praise. "I know you have what it takes."

The redhead's frown melted at that and a cunning, smug smirk crept on his face instead. "As ye wish, mah wee bun."

* * *

Alfred stared at his own reflection in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, nervous. He'd barely spoken a word to anyone since his return, a few hours before and he knew that sooner or later – most likely sooner – he'd have to explain to his parents where he'd been and above all why he'd left in such haste in a moment when the Kingdom needed his presence. The prince took a step away from the mirror and drew in a shaky breath – they would not like it at all. Not his parents, not even Advisor Wang.

But then again, they wanted him to be married – to a proper Queen according to the tradition, no less. Lily Zwingly clearly didn't meet the requirements for that… Arthur on the other hand was a sorcerer and there was no guarantee that Alfred could obtain his hand in marriage. Maybe being part of Osmanthus' Order meant that he could not be married? Well, the blond thought, leaving his room at last and heading towards the throne hall with unsure steps, it didn't really matter… He _loved_ Arthur Kirkland, the Green Mage. And he had a very clear feeling in his gut that all hell was going to break loose for that reason.

* * *

His parents had been worried sick! And Alfred wasn't a little boy anymore, to run off like that, his father rebuked him in front of the whole court. What with the trouble they were in! King Francis would return and then what? And Alfred had yet to give an answer to the advisors' suggestion regarding his marriage. Here King Thorne paused suggestively, then expressed his hope that his son had made up his mind to do the right thing under the circumstances.

Like hell, the bespectacled blond thought, his gaze trailing questioningly to where Yao Wang stood. As their eyes met, the Advisor instantly understood that things were not going to go that way and he sent the prince a silent warning to tread carefully.

When his turn eventually came to speak, the prince straightened his back, finally deciding to let it all out in but a few words."Father, I have discovered who is the man who saved us from King Francis on that crucial day when he stood upon our doorstep. His name is Arthur Kirkland and he is a mage of the Order of Osmanthus. Having found out this, my mind is made up to travel to Osmanthus and ask for his hand in marriage."

A few moments of suffocating silence followed his words, then a ruckus of hushed talk broke out between courtiers, eventually cut short when the King slammed down his fist.

"Alfred… " he hissed coldly, "You _will not_ marry a sorcerer!"

The blond gulped slightly, but did his best to hold up his father's gaze. "You married the one you loved, not someone chosen by your Advisors. I want to do the same, and… I love Arthur Kirkland. And he's already proven himself a worthy Queen."

"Like hell!" Thorne spat, literally jumping from his seat. "What do you think you know of this, you silly little boy?! A sorcerer can prove himself many things, but you have no idea, because you have lived here sheltered from this kind of crap! Because I saw to it that you did!"

Oh yes, he'd thrown his own siblings out in the street and had left them to their fate. He must have been afraid – the prince realised – that they would take his throne or something. Well, in the end it sure looked like Ivan and the girls had done better away from home and their hateful brother.

"Even if it weren't a _complete folly_ , you cannot make such a selfish decision, Alfred," the King went on. "It is unfair to the Kingdom!"

Unfair to the Kingdom. Well, thought the blond, this was about the last drop.

"Unfair?! This Kingdom already has a ruling King and a Queen! What's unfair is that you left me all alone in this! I alone had to organize your army, I alone had to walk and face King Francis and be laughed at and it's me who faces people's scowls and frowns while you never bother to leave these halls!" he shouted. "And if it weren't for Arthur, you wouldn't be sitting here at all!"

Okay, now he'd done it and in front of everyone no less, Alfred reflected fleetingly, but if his father would have it this way… He took in the Queen's pained expression, but she remained silent. There was no look of surprise on her pale features though, it was almost as if she'd expected this talk to take place sooner or later. Yao Wang - if he was indeed surprised - hid it well and maintained a neutral countenance, ever faithful to his habit of keeping himself out of shit storms whenever possible.

Thorne was livid, but a look of realization crept onto his face in the same time. "Oh… I see now… So that's where you have been these days… You went to see that bastard brother of mine! It was him, wasn't it?!" he roared. "Ivan got these things in your head, didn't he?! That accursed sorcerer!"

"He is my uncle."

"You will not speak of him in this way under my roof, do you hear?!"

He'd heard quite enough. The bespectacled blond turned on his heels and starting walking towards the doors, saddened by his King and father's stubbornness, but his will steeled all the more because of that.

"Alfred, if you walk out now, you are no longer my son! Consider yourself disowned!"

A bitter smile crept on the young prince's lips as the doors of throne hall slammed shut in his wake. "Fine…" he murmured.

_**To be continued** _


	6. Chapter 6

Ignoring the ruckus which had broken out once he'd left the throne hall, Alfred rushed down the corridor, past the awed glances of the guards, eager to get outside, to fresh air. Only when he was finally outside, in the palace gardens, did the blond slow his step and allowed himself to draw a deep breath. His cheeks burned with anger and humiliation at having been spoken like this by his father in front of the entire court, yet in the same time a strange feeling of relief was upon him, as if a heavy weight had at last been lifted off his shoulders. His uncle was right - he had been dealing with too much for his young age, burdened with responsibilities which should have been the King's. And now, when he'd finally gathered the courage to speak his mind, his father had not hesitated to make proof of the full measure of his cruelty and bad temper. And still, the prince could not bring himself to hate him.

Disowned. Well. The blond wondered, suddenly concerned, whether his beloved sorcerer would still reciprocate his feelings in the light of the latest developments. Maybe what Arthur wanted was a future King, someone equal to his rank, not a prince turned into a stray, left without a kingdom.

The faint swishing of fabric drawing closer alerted the prince that someone was coming and he hoped it wasn't his father. But the light steps falling steadily on the gravel weren't Thorne's, but Queen Elaine's, who was followed closely by Advisor Wang. Alfred suddenly felt horribly guilty for having put his mother through this, but her face was calm, without a trace of reproach.

"Oh, my darling…" the blonde said softly, walking up to him while the advisor had stopped at a respectful distance, expectantly. The Queen's hand reached up and cupped the side of her son's face while she mustered a soothing smile. Alfred however did not have the strength to meet her gaze right away.

"Mother, please forgive me!" he said kneeling, covering the Queen's pale, slender hand with both his own and bringing it to his lips. "I never meant to hurt you so!"

Elaine shook her head in reply, her smile not faltering." Sadly, all you have said is true. Alfred, your father has always been the love of my life but I knew… no, I feared that sooner or later he would not be up to his tasks. But don't think that he is a cruel man, or an unloving father. Sooner or later, he will realise the fault in his harsh words and take them back! He simply cannot disown you, you're our only child!"

The prince scowled – he wanted to trust what his mother was saying, but facts spoke clearer than words and his father had cast out his own siblings, after all. "I don't know what to believe anymore," he said with a frown. "If he could cast out his own brother and sisters, why wouldn't he throw me into the street as well?"

The Queen sighed, then sat down lightly on one of the stone benches, motioning for her son to join her. "Alfred, it's not quite the same thing. They were magic children and you know that even nowadays sorcerers are a controversial subject all over the continent, so you can imagine how it was back then… Of course, I did not agree to it, I even tried to convince him to change his mind, but… I suppose he was afraid, most of all."

Alfred still stared down at the tips of his boots, not knowing what to say to that. Yes, he supposed, sorcerers were still 'a controversial subject'. As for the Order of Osmanthus, even his uncle Ivan had advised him to stay away from them. But still, he would not allow himself to doubt Arthur, just because the young mages happened to be a bit mischievous. With the green-eyed boy by his side he'd felt ready to take on the whole world.

"So how are Ivan and the girls?" his mother asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Oh, they are fine. They send you their regards and hold you the deepest affection!"

Elaine's smile grew and she shook her head. "I'm glad to hear that. I remember that they were such sweet children! And at the time I was only betrothed to your father, so your uncle Ivan suggested that I should marry him instead." She laughed softly.

The prince couldn't help wondering if it hadn't been better and – even if he would have never dared to say it loud – his mother guessed his thought and to his surprise burst into full laughter this time.

"My darling, Ivan was twelve at the time."

Right, he should have done the math himself – the sorcerer king was way too young to be able to have married his mother before his birth. He bit his lip, not knowing what to say nex1t. Speaking of sorcerers, what did his mother think of his decision?

"Mother, I… um… you said you'd trust my whatever decision, so I want to know if… well… I mean I know this may sound… rather hazardous…"

"Well, it is hazardous, I can't say otherwise," the blonde replied softly."But I suppose the decisions of the young are bound to appear hazardous to the elders. If you feel that you must do it, then you have my blessing."

Alfred took his mother's hand and brought it to his lips once more. "Mother, whatever the truth may be in the end, the King's decision stands for now and I must leave the kingdom." He drew a deep breath, pained at not knowing how to soothe her sadness. "And hopefully everything will be alright in the end…"

"Right," the Queen replied, leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "May the Gods be with you, my love. I will leave Yao to provide you with the little help he can."

Then she walked away and the prince bowed his head, bitterness tugging at his heart but still aware that propriety would not have allowed his mother to have more words with the now outcast prince. Her place was at her husband's side and Alfred had just chosen to turn his back on them.

"Milord," Advisor Wang said, with a curt nod of his head. "I suppose it is your intention to travel to Osmanthus now, is it not?"

The bespectacled blond nodded without a word, grateful that the advisor had not decided to scold him for his actions. Maybe he deserved to be scolded, it was a rash decision on his behalf and even he was fully aware of it.

"Well then. The only way to travel to Osmanthus is to take a ship from the Second or the Ninth of the White Kingdoms. The problem is that very few ships venture all the way to the Isle of Osmanthus, but I have the luck to know someone who does." Yao dug into his pocket and produced a small envelope bearing his neat handwriting. "Milord, here you have a letter from me to captain Mathias Kohler, an acquaintance of mine, hopefully you shall be able to find him in the main harbor of the Ninth of the White Kingdoms. People usually steer clear from his path because he is a pirate, but he is a trustworthy man. However…"

Alfred thought it wise not to ask how come Advisor Wang knew a pirate captain. "Yes?" he asked finally, eyeing the letter in the other's hand.

"I'm afraid that… given the circumstances… you'll have no other choice but to take a job with the man, milord," Yao said apologetically.

Take a job… right. Well, as daunting a prospect as it might have been, delving into the unknown like that, it had occurred to Alfred that in the event of losing his place as heir of the throne – and yes, he'd not actually put it past his father to do what he'd done and so the King's decision had not come as much of a surprise – he'd have to find a way to make a living. Fortunately, unlike many other princes who were spoiled brats, he'd been used to being given plenty of responsibilities from a young age. Even so, it was one thing to envisage a job in general and quite another to be forced to take one in the service of a pirate. Well, he concluded eventually, it would only be temporary after all.

* * *

"It seems there will most likely be a draught this year. If this is the case, the crops will not grow and the Kingdoms will suffer," Lukas said, leafing through a report. "We shall have to devise a solution for that, and soon, before the spring is over."

"We can certainly handle a draught," the Green Mage observed. "But the Kingdoms suffer much more because of the war. King Francis is using all the supplies for the marching army while the people from the White Kingdoms are left to starve. I think it is him we should handle first and foremost."

Valentin sighed, picking up a scroll a servant had brought and unfolding it in his lap. "Why can't we just kill him? Or at least his blasted Queen…"

"Because the Order doesn't murder people – this is the law of Osmanthus. Most unfortunately…" the Blue Mage replied bluntly. "What news from our spies from the continent?"

The Red Mage's eyes traveled down the scroll and stopped abruptly, before the boy lifted his gaze and threw Arthur a worried glance, discreetly tossing the scroll in his lap. "Eh… well, not much. Apparently King Francis' campaign has come to a halt for now and his advisors are still debating which of the Black Kingdoms to attack next. That should buy us some time to come up with something…"

But Arthur did not hear the rest of what the other Mage was saying, his eyes captured by the text before him and his breath stopped short. The spies reported that Prince Alfred of the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms had been disowned after a public argument with his father, in which the prince had openly disobeyed his father's will to marry the Princess Lilly Zwingly of Eighth Black Kingdom, instead expressing his desire to ask for the hand of the sorcerer Arthur Kirkland of the Order of Osmanthus.

"Shit!" he murmured, blinking disbelievingly and unable to think anything past said word. This could not have happened, it really wasn't supposed to happen! On top of everything, Alfred had already left the kingdom and nobody knew where he was! The green-eyed sorcerer gripped his midsection, feeling suddenly weak and dizzy.

"Arthur!"

"W-what?"

The blue-eyed blond tsked, shaking his head. "I was saying that, useless as the current Kings of the continent might have proven themselves, there are a few promising future monarchs on the rise and that perhaps, if we offered them some _discreet_ support, things could be fixed. What do you think?"

But Lukas did not actually wait for an answer – he reached out suddenly and snatched the scroll from the Green Mage's hand. Damn! Because he was blind, the other two mages constantly underestimated him. Once he'd gotten what he wanted, the Blue Mage's fingers travelled hurriedly down the rough piece of parchment, now moistened on the sides by the sweat of Arthur's hands. His scowl grew deeper and deeper as he went through the text in his own peculiar way.

"So… that happened," he stated at last. "That is very strange, unless, of course, _you_ told him everything!"

"Wha-?! I told him nothing!"

"You told him who you are!" the blue-eyed blond insisted. "How else could he know not only your name, but about the Order too!"

"I told him nothing, nothing!" Arthur defended himself, exasperated. "Surely, he must have suspected… I-I can't fathom exactly what, but…"

"I think Ivan Braginski told him," the Red Mage intervened, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "After all, Prince Alfred is his nephew. He must have asked his sorcerer uncle about the mysterious 'Queen'…"

A heavy silence fell upon the three of them for a while, the green-eyed blond momentarily allowed to quietly brood over the current misfortune. By the Gods, how to fix this? Could it even be fixed to begin with? And all because… well – the mage thought sadly – he'd wanted to feel a bit of warmth for once. Just once.

"Ivan Braginski… the rogue sorcerer who has always accounted as an additional complication as far as we're concerned. And now you've seduced his nephew – I wonder if and what he will do about it," Lukas said at last, in a cold, calculating tone.

Actually, after they'd cursed his younger sister and now seduced his nephew into disobeying his father, Arthur would really not have thought about what the Northern king would do if he could, at all. "That's ridiculous!" he said instead, trying to sound firm. "I have not _seduced_ him, where did you get such a preposterous idea?! I merely helped-"

"Really? I think your nose is growing, Arthur…"

* * *

The young sorcerer stumbled and leaned against a wall, catching his breath. The effort of rushing out of the room and hurrying all the way to the other side of the palace had taken up more of his energy than he would have thought. Could things have really been so serious, the mage wondered, was the prince's very life the price to be paid for a few fleeting moments when Arthur had actually allowed himself to dream of love? A dark suspicion gnawed at his heart the more he thought of the consequences of Alfred's decision because yes, reaching the Isle of Osmanthus in the first place was a hard task, but he did not doubt that his lover could do it.

Wait, his _lover_? No, no, no! Arthur was a leading mage of the Order, he could not afford to entertain such foolish illusions! Gritting his teeth, he made his way down the hall, knowing he had no choice but to talk this over with the man who might have snooped around enough to know something about it.

Allistor the Fire Mage was sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed, watching something in a large mirror with great interest. Past the enchanted glass a girl in a white fur coat was riding a black horse through a snow-covered forest. Her pale blonde hair fell rich on her back down to her waist, only held back loosely by a midnight-blue silk ribbon matching the color of her eyes. Her cheeks were red from the cold and her endearing face had a look of concentration as her small gloved hands gripped the reins tightly. Arthur couldn't help rolling his eyes at the sight, leaning tiredly against the doorframe.

"Now what the hell are you doing?"

"Say, wee bun, did ye make Ivan Braginski's youngest sister fall in love with him?" the redhead wanted to know, his eyes still glued to the mirror.

The Green Mage mentally facepalmed at the ominously sounding question (he hoped that the Fire Mage had not had some particularly 'bright' idea all the sudden, one that involved their rival sorcerer's sister no less), but kept an indifferent countenance, merely raising an eyebrow. "We might have… What's it to you?"

Dark green eyes turned to him scornfully. "Wha' a waste! Ye could have made her fall fer me instead!" Allistor pointed, blinking in irritation and crossing his arms.

"Yes, I suppose we could have, but even our malice has limits, Allistor," the green-eyed boy replied slowly, biting the inside of his cheek not to laugh at the face the Fire Mage made at that. Annoying the redhead always paid off and Arthur even ignored his predicament for the moment to do just that.

"Wha' do ye mean? Are ye sayin' ah'm a bad man?"

"Oh, no, just horrible. The other Lesser Mages have begged you on their knees to stop cooking that stinking dish of yours down in the kitchens, but did you? Hell no!"

Allistor threw him a glare, but then a naughty smirk made its way on his lips as he turned away. "Maybe they didn't beg hard enough."

"See?"

"Or maybe the fact tha' ah'm yer cousin may have somethin' ta do with tha'…"

The green-eyed boy just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"So wha' can ah do fer ye? Ah reckon ye didn't bother all this way fer nothin'…" Allistor said, but before the other could reply he went on. "Oh, ah remember now! Ye asked me ta look into a wee somethin'! Ah have, ye know?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Turns out Master Bondevik's been seein' someone after all, just like ye'd suspected, mah wee bun. Ah followed him down to the harbor on a moonless night and there he went an' sat, in the middle of a bloody tavern no less, not botherin' ta hide. But tha' man ain't just a pirate, he's a captain alright… if tha' accounts for somethin'."

In that very moment Arthur couldn't care any less about who Lukas was seeing behind everyone's back. For now he had bigger problems and - albeit reluctantly – shared them with his older cousin.

"So I've sort of done it this time, haven't I?" the younger sorcerer concluded morosely, eventually plopping into a cushioned seat.

The redhead nodded. "Aye, ye have. But ah have ta ask – do ye love the prince as he loves ye?" he asked seriously.

"I can't love the prince, Allistor!" the blond shouted, burying his face in his hands. "You know I can't love him!"

"Ye can't love him or ye won't? Ah know the rules, wee bun, tha' we were all born into this job an' such. But would ye want ta be with him if ye could, or not?"

Arthur simply closed his eyes and nodded. "But for now I just want him to live. And if he comes here and asks the Spirit of Osmanthus for my hand in marriage he won't, will he? Osmanthus will kill him…" The last words dropped off his lips in a mere whisper and he curled up helplessly into a tight ball on the sofa.

"Ye don't know tha'"

"It happened before, did it not? A few hundred years ago there was a very beautiful girl among the Lesser Mages, and a young man who sought her hand in marriage. Osmanthus killed him for his audacity, didn't he?"

"Yer wrong." The redhead sat up, pulling a cloth over the mirror, then walked up to his table and filled a cup with red wine, thoughtful. "Ah reckon the Great Master never bothered too much over tha' story, because there's a dark side ta it, somethin' ye three lads had best not known, not yet anyway. But in truth he told the lad tha' if he wanted ta marry one o' his mages he'd have ta fulfill a task. An' he meant ta keep his word too, but the lad failed ta do it. No one's fault, ye see."

A task. Well, _that_ certainly wasn't helpful.

_**To be continued** _


	7. Chapter 7

Light green eyes swept curiously over the buzz of the large city and the gleaming white buildings adorned with flags marking all the victories of King Francis and his Queen. They were now in the capital city of the Third of the White Kingdoms, the very place where all the madness of war had started. The White war – as it was commonly called - had drained the other conquered White and Black kingdoms, but the Third of the White Kingdoms was rich and its people thriving and nowhere was this more visible than in its posh capital.

Arthur pulled the hood of the grey cloak lower on his face as he and the other mage made their way through the crowd, keeping along to the side buildings so as not to impede the numerous aristocrats carried around by slaves in luxurious palanquins. He for one was rather grateful, in moments like this, that the Order had taken him from his home on the continent. Despite everything, being a mage meant to have privileges and above all safety.     

“Good ta see someone’s havin’ a good time,” Allistor observed.”Others may be farin’ badly but ‘ere no, ah even heard one sayin’ tha tomorrow there’ll be a parade with chariots and stuff! Now how much coin do ye reckon would go into tha’ sort o’thing? Ah suppose no one’s botherin’ ta worry about the draught ta come…”

The Green Mage scowled as he trudged on with the cane, shivering in the light clothes because the spring here was colder than he’d expected and weary from all the gloomy thoughts plaguing him lately. And now his cousin’s incessant talk was the last thing he needed.

“By the Gods, we are supposed to be _inconspicuous_! All of your loud ranting isn’t really helping with that, you know? I don’t give a damn about all this rubbish! Why the hell did you have to tag along, again?” he grumbled.

“Ye know why – ah’m protectin’ an’ chaperonin’ ye, ain’t ah? Let’s not forget wha’ happened the last time ye were out on yer own, mah wee bun, ye ended up on yer back, haven’t ye?” the Fire Mage chuckled obnoxiously in reply.

“What do you mean, ‘ended on my back’?! I beat the hell out of that ridiculous White Queen! I bloody sent him flying across the chessboard!” the younger sorcerer hissed, trying his best to keep his voice down. He really hoped this wasn’t about a _certain thing_ he’d probably never hear the end of…

“Oh, ye know, later on ye did… on a certain someone’s bed. Heheheh…”

Arthur’s arm shot up and the cane collided with the back of the other’s head several times, but his cousin only took the beating increasingly amused. By the Gods, he really was a hopeless idiot!

Rolling his eyes, the sorcerer stopped and looked around at the buildings, looking for a sign that they might have arrived at their destination. He really couldn’t go on walking much further like this – it was one of the bad days for his legs – and there was no way his cousin could carry him without drawing at least some attention.  

“Here it is, ah reckon,” the redhead pointed, indicating an entrance which stood out from the other doors, being painted in a nondescript and totally chaotic mixture of colors. A faded plaque nailed to it stated something confusing about ‘the color of dreams’ and ‘art of fortunetelling’. Oh well, Arthur thought, the man might have been their spy, but he had to make a living. And now all he cared about was to find out what was so important that the spy could not write in a message of sorts or otherwise convey.

“Color o’dreams mah arse. Ah bet tha’ Master Galyel is keepin’ a brothel in there, just doesn’t want ta pay the regular taxes,” Allistor commented, pushing the door open and revealing a long, narrow staircase spiraling downwards, underground. “Aye, one might get a good cheap fock if they don’t break their neck first on the bloody stairs!”

The green-eyed blond sighed, slightly disgusted by the sweetish aromatic scent drifting from below. This had better be worth this unpleasant visit. Quietly they made their way down the treacherous steps, walking past a glass beads curtain into some surprisingly large living quarters. Galyel Ghok’s place of business was sunken in semi-obscurity and a few rays of colored light poured in from outside through two small stained glass windows placed very closed to the ceiling, but otherwise there were no candles, nothing. The two mages looked around at the rich sofas and decorations of the room a bit surprised, because there was no one in sight, until the Fire Mage found a silver bell and shook it.

“Ah told ye-“

But then Arthur heard the swish of a silk curtain and turned abruptly, his eyes falling on the old man who walked in, dragging his feet. A young girl was following closely, carrying some sort of nargile which she laid down on the coffee table next to her master’s sofa as the supposed fortuneteller plopped down with a grunt.

“Welcome, young masters,” he greeted in a coarse voice, but mustering a smile nevertheless under the rich moustache. “I am honored to have the two of you under my humble roof. Would you like something to drink?” He motioned for the girl and she hurriedly stepped out.

“Why don’t you tell us why we’re here?” the Green Mage asked, rather impatient.

It suddenly crossed his mind, by seeing how pleased the man was, that maybe the fortunetelling business was going so well because he’d somehow (despite it being clearly forbidden) divulged his affiliation to the Order. Was anyone watching them right now? Had they been lured in some sort of trap? Well, if they had and their man had betrayed them and anyone was to try anything funny, he would simply order Allistor to roast them alive, discretion be damned. The Order of Osmanthus was not to be taken lightly. But Arthur’s stomach cringed painfully at the mere thought of it, hoping such drastic measures would not be necessary.  

Galyel Ghok treaded his fingers thoughtfully through his rich white beard – a trick of the trade, no doubt, the blond thought. But then he leaned forward, brow furrowed, as if he was in fear of was he was about to say. “You know, I’m a curious man. May be a good or a bad thing, that, depending on the circumstances. That is to say, young masters, I might get in trouble if word gets out that I’ve opened my mouth about this… very delicate subject.”

“Then ye will do well ta keep yer whores’ mouths shut, aye?” the Fire Mage replied quickly, with a snort.

The fortuneteller faked a confused look at this and Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He was rather relieved though, the bastard had not made them come all the way with foul intentions, only to make sure he was paid for his services. Well… “Master Galyel, before you name your price I will want to know if what you’ve got is actually worth anything. Of course, seeing how you’ve pledged your _undying_ allegiance to the Order, I’m sure it is…”

The man nodded, albeit visibly disappointed. “Very well. As I was saying, my inborn curiosity had always made me wonder about our lovely little Queen. Because you see, young masters, no one seems to know where he came from. He comes from no known noble family, yet he doesn’t have the rough, unpolished traits of a commoner. It’s always been as if… he were simply made for royalty. And as I dug up eventually, _made_ he was, if you know my meaning…”

The blond blinked, trying to figure out the meaning behind those words. _Made?_ As in, by means of magic? He had suspected there was something foul at play when it came to King Francis’s little Queen, that fragile looking boy who was simply too good at what he was doing – too good at fighting, too good at keeping a huge army in hand. That and the White King not being awfully surprised when Arthur had made an entire army pop up at a snap of his fingers had made the sorcerer suspicious when it came to Francis’s acquaintance to magic things. So… made, wasn’t he, the precious Queen Matthieu…

“But how? There is no sorcerer powerful enough to accomplish such a task,” he said, scowling.

“Was it Ivan Braginski?” Allistor cut in.”The bloody rogue sorcerers would do anythin’ fer gold!”

But Galyel Ghok only chuckled smugly. “You are wrong, young master. It turned out that our fair King traveled past the Great Sea, all the way to the Dark Lands. And there the Necromancers _made_ him a Queen exactly to the specifications. And in exchange…” he leaned forward even more, his voice reduced to a mere whisper. “…he gave his younger sister Jeanne to the Necromancers. She was a plain, boring little thing so the King figured that she wouldn’t have made a good marriage anyway. But the Necromancers like girls and they aren’t picky, you know? And then everyone was told that the poor girl died of some fever.”

Arthur’s stomach cringed again, this time with new worry – maybe the Order had underestimated the ambitious White king after all. The Necromancers… to have dealings with _them_ one had to be either completely mad or really determined. And to think that he’d sold his own sister to those dreadful beings only to fulfill his political ambitions! And then his thoughts flew back to Prince Alfred – where the hell was he wandering now and what if the king’s men were to get their hands on him?! Damn it! No, no, no! He couldn’t think of this now! The prince would have to see to himself for the time being, Arthur and the other mages had a bigger job to do and the sooner they found a way…

“… and the contract through which the King controls his Queen was sealed into a fancy little jewel, an earring which His Majesty is wearing at all times. “

The green-eyed blond scowled, realising he hadn’t been paying full attention and pondering on what he’d just heard. Great.

“So if one was to… say, steal that earring and destroy it, there would be no more contract and Queen Matthieu would be a free man, right?” he wondered, out loud. “Free to disobey his King?”

Galyel Ghok nodded, pleased with himself and sort of amused too. Bastard, he was probably secretly laughing at the problem this would pose and thought the mages would be thwarted in whatever attempt they were going to make. Because surely Galyel Ghok knew that the Order did not favor King Francis. Speaking of which, the green-eyed blond liked to believe that the Order was strong enough to eventually defeat one continental tyrant. But still, it was going to be one hell of a task getting their hands on the respective jewel.

“Very well, then. The Order is grateful for your valuable information, Master Galyel. Allistor, see that our friend is paid.”

“Wha- why me?!”

Arthur bit his lip, holding back his amusement at angering his cousin. “But Allistor…” he leaned in, whispering innocently in the redhead’s ear. “I’ve got no money on me and the only thing I could do… well… now you said you wouldn’t want me to end up on my back again, would you?”

* * *

 

The letter Advisor Yao had given him was just about the only thing left in his pockets. But at least the weather had gotten better in the last couple of days and the new, unfamiliar but strangely pleasant smell of the sea brought about by a mild breeze made the young prince hopeful. He’d changed his rich clothes for cheaper, nondescript ones, which had been a good decision in more ways than one – keeping him fed and housed along the way and hidden from the watchful eyes of King Francis’s men once he’d set foot into the White territory. 

So, at last, this was the city of Ragon, the main port of the Ninth of the White Kingdoms, where he was supposed to meet Yao’s pirate friend – an unsettling idea if he was to be completely honest. But the glimpse of the large ships docked in the harbor were worth Alfred’s awe and, ignoring the grumbling of his empty stomach and the aching of his tired feet, he sped up towards the shore.

The blond made his way down the narrow, rather dirty streets leading down to the quay, hoping to be in luck. After all, this was the place where Captain Kohler would usually dock when he returned from his raids (or so Advisor Wang had said), but it wasn’t a given that the prince would find him there now. Maybe he’d have to wait for the man’s return a rather long while? Alfred figured he’d then have to take a job at the harbor to make a living until then. And what if the pirate never returned? He would then have to find some other way to reach the Isle of Osmanthus…  

The quay was swarming with people loading and unloading the docked ships, while the long row of taverns lining the shore was full of noisy sailors, merchants and whatnot. Alfred’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to a violent fight which had started into a side pub, but no one else seemed to mind, it was probably a usual occurrence.

Suddenly, the prince could feel a pair of eyes on the back of his neck and turned abruptly, spotting a young girl perched up on a barrel, eating an apple. Her bright green eyes were shining with hidden mirth and she was smiling at his lost air as she hoped down, tossing the fruit and flipping her rich brown hair over her shoulder. Yet the curious girl was making no move towards him, but was instead busying herself adjusting the pink flower in her hair and the green scarf tied over her head. Alfred glanced at her thoughtfully, then at the man standing beside her with a sullen air – he was a tall, sturdy giant with blond hair and cold blue eyes behind small spectacles, clad in a heavy mail shirt. A long, broad sword hung on his hip on one side, while on the other he had a smaller double-bladed axe. Taking a deep breath, Alfred resolved that merely asking a question to the two of them could not turn out to be that hazardous, and the girl may have known what he was interested in.  

“My lady, I was wondering if you could tell me where to find Captain Mathias Kohler?” he asked politely, even with a small bow. 

The two perked up instantly at the question, giving him an assessing once-over. “What’s it to you, sir?” the brunette replied plainly, eyebrow raised in slight suspicion.

“I have a letter for the Captain, is all. And I am to give it into his hand only. Do you know where I could find him?”

The girl glanced quickly at her companion, but the taller blond only shrugged and murmured something unintelligible under his breath as he pointed with his head towards the row of taverns. “Very well, young sir,” the girl conceded at last. “You’ll find the captain in there, you can’t miss him. But we cannot guarantee that he’ll be in a good mood...”

The prince turned warily towards the particular tavern she had indicated, wondering-… well, more like hoping he wouldn’t end up caught in a fight of sorts. He was unarmed – a sword would have drawn unwanted attention – and that meant extra care in keeping himself out of trouble.  Some ruckus could already be heard from the inside, but the bespectacled blond had not taken two steps that way when the wooden door practically flew out and with it a messy-haired blond in leather garments and a fancy coat lined with red.

“Damn drunkard, you always wreck my place!” a solid, bald man with a slimy apron shouted, stepping on the doorstep with his hands on his hips. “Don’t ever dare to come back here, or I’ll break your legs!” he yelled, throwing something at the fallen man – an enormous, long-handled axe.  

“….m’coin just as good… as everyone else’s!” the man slurred, struggling to collect himself off the ground while using the weapon as a propping tool. “Besides… just… ‘ad a cup or two!” he added, followed by some very foul swear.

Well, looked like the girl had been right – the captain (indeed it was him, for the two he’d spoken to were looking knowingly in his direction, the girl giggling and the giant shaking his head disapprovingly) was in no mood to be approached for any serious matters. But there was no time to waste, what if his ship was bound to depart soon? Without much thinking, Alfred picked up a bucket filled with clear water and threw it over the man’s head.

The wild-haired blond lost his balance and nearly fell again, the small hat he’d just perched on the top of his head knocked off. He glared in the prince’s direction while sporting a confused scowl, before scrubbing a hand over his face and blinking, opening his eyes widely.

“W-Who are you?! How… dare you?” the pirate said, grabbing the axe as he took a step in the prince’s direction and looking ready to swing it.

But then the green-eyed girl rushed over and grabbed his arm, half supporting him against her slender frame. “Mathias, the man has a letter for you and must deliver it personally. Please, he made it sound like it was important!” she said, holding his chin up in a familiar manner. “Maybe it’s news from home?”

The blond swatted her hand away suddenly, making a effort to straighten up. “There is no more _home_ , Elizaveta, I told you! Get a grip on yourself and stop hoping in vain! I told you-” His angry rant stopped short as he seemed to remember Alfred and stepped forward, reaching out. “You! Give me the damned letter, now!”

He snatched the piece of paper from the prince’s hand and unfolded it hurriedly. “You, boy, have a lot of balls to dare treat me this way,” he muttered, turning his back and walking away while reading and continuing to grumble. “…not getting away with this…” But then, upon going through the contents, his mirth seemed to return unexpectedly.

He motioned for Alfred to follow him as he walked towards one of the ships, his arm draped around the brunette’s shoulders. Was that a good sign? Hard to say… The pirate, now supported by the sturdy blond, stopped at the end of the small bridge leading onto the ship and placed his hands on his hips.

“Everyone, gather up please! I have an announcement to make, so drag your asses from whatever fucking hole you’ve crept into!” he yelled, tapping his foot impatiently.

Seeing how the ship wasn’t much, it didn’t take long for his men to show – the door to the cabins creaked open and two boys walked out, a shy looking blond with pale blue eyes and a smaller one, with almost white hair and a puffin perched on his shoulder. And no one else. Were these two, the giant and the girl apparently called Elizaveta all of the captain’s men? No wonder Yao must have thought he was in need of staff.  

“Well, guess what, you!” the captain announced, undeterred by their indifferent stares. “We have just been done a great honor – the Prince Alfred from the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms is here to mop our floor from now on, hahahahahaha!” Saying that, he pushed the bespectacled blond forward rather forcefully. “And, to complete the introductions: this is my sister Elizaveta and this is my crew - who go by the name Berwald, Tino and Emil – an exceptional bunch of schmucks,” the drunken blond giggled, stumbling ahead onto the deck. “That being said, you are more than welcome to join us, _Your Highness_.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

 

Captain Kohler had not been joking when he’d said Alfred would be scrubbing the deck of his ship, and the man wanted it to be pristine, too. Luckily for him, the prince was not afraid of hard work and his hands were already somewhat calloused from all the weapons practice he’d had so far, hardly any damage would be done. Yet the blond couldn’t help feeling a small cringe of worry upon wondering what the Mage who had stolen his heart and dreams would have thought if he saw him like this. ‘My King’, the green-eyed sorcerer had called him, and at that time such a lovely fantasy could still be indulged in, because then he’d still been a crown prince, but now? Wouldn’t the Mage be thoroughly disappointed with his new lowly occupation, after he’d gotten himself disowned and had run away from home? Would his sweet Arthur still allow these rough fingers on his velvety skin?

Yet he could not dwell on such thoughts for too long - it was a beautiful day, the wind still somewhat cold but the sun bright and the expanse of sparkly blue water smelling faintly of salt brought about a sense of freedom Alfred had never felt before. He was here now, out in the open, at last able to breathe freely, away from constrictions of all sorts, away from expectations, away from his burdened life as a future monarch. And it felt wonderful.

“You never told me why you are so keen to travel to the Isle of Osmanthus, prince, and Yao Wang has never let out any unnecessary words.”

Alfred nearly jumped at this, brush dropping from his hand as he turned to look up at the captain. He had to admit that Kohler was somewhat impressive when sober – he was tall, strong and muscular, with a proud spark in his bright blue eyes and, if what his crew said was true, quite skilled with both the sword and that ungodly axe which never left his side.

“Well, it’s… rather complicated,” the bespectacled blond eventually decided upon answering. “I found that on the Island of Osmanthus there is an Order of Mages and that they are very powerful, so I’m seeking their advice and help on how to save my home kingdom. But my father has… certain opinions about sorcerers, so I had to run away and do this against his will.” He chewed on his lip, hoping that Kohler would buy his half-truth. “It’s just… he’s always spoken of my responsibilities, but now he wouldn’t understand that we don’t stand much of a chance otherwise!”

The pirate sighed, leaning against the railing and looking out over the waves. “I suppose fathers can be disappointing like that, even if they are Kings,” he stated bitterly. “You know that the Sixth of the White Kingdoms was among the first ones to fall in the War, right? My mother was a fierce Queen and Elizaveta takes after her, heh… “

Alfred couldn’t help holding his breath for a moment, in awe. Mathias Kohler, a prince? So this was how Advisor Wang must have known the young man, no doubt during his diplomatic travels.

“So we both rode with her at war, even if my father didn’t want Elizaveta to go, he said that as a future Queen herself she would see more than her share of battles later… but all this was before Queen Mathew chopped off my mother’s head and took it to his King as trophy. And before my father just surrendered and took his own life like the coward he’d always been, and the two of us had no choice but to flee… make do with the little that was left and we could take with us. It was enough to buy this shit ship for one.”

The northerner was left staring, not knowing what to say in reply. Maybe Yao had had another reason for wanting him to meet the lost prince and his sister, maybe there was something to be learned from their experience that he would later find useful? Only the two siblings had somewhat gone down a wrong path, if robbing King Francis’s ships could be called that. And was he in the same boat with them now, was he to consider himself homeless and forced to do what he had to simply survive, for lack of a father able to make any kind of decisions?

Still, Alfred didn’t want to think of his father that way. He hoped that one day King Thorne would grow to understand why he’d chosen to confront him and even say those harsh and disobedient words, because he’d never meant to disappoint or dishonor his parents.  

 _‘Even if it weren’t a complete folly, you cannot make such a selfish decision, Alfred! It’s unfair to the Kingdom!’_ Unfair… A cold fury swept over the prince upon remembering this and his right hand tingled oddly. _’You went to see that bastard brother of mine! It was him, wasn’t it?! Ivan got these things in your head, didn’t he?! That accursed sorcerer!’_  And there it was again, the tingling, rapidly growing into a burn this time and painful enough to make him drop the brush into the bucket with a startling plop. He stared at his open palm, watching in horror as some weird black shapes, like a spider web, were starting to emerge on his skin. What the hell was this?! Why now?! 

Fortunately the pirate didn’t notice any of this, bringing down his large palm over Alfred’s shoulder, effectively making him snap out of it and making the horrid vision disappear. He blinked and breathed deeply, worriedly examining his palm again, but it was nothing there now.

“Enough of that grim stuff for now, _Your Highness_. You’ll like the Isle of Osmanthus, it’s quite the lively and colorful place. Don’t know about the Mages, but the taverns and brothels are exquisite, I daresay. I found it’s a great place to sell my cargo as well, no one asks unpleasant questions.” The pirate grinned broadly, running a hand through his wild hair. “And also, I met someone there – a beautiful boy I’m thinking about on lonely nights.”

Alfred froze, instantly thinking of the young mage he was dreaming of and now gripped by a different fear. “Is that so?” he asked shakily. “What is he like?”

“Feisty,” Mathias laughed. “His name is Lukas and he keeps calling me an idiot, or an oaf, sweet things like those. He may act like a troll for the most part, but he is beautiful like a fairy prince and his eyes are the darkest blue I’ve ever seen. And when he allows me to claim his lips and… well, other things…”

Eyes of the darkest blue? The bespectacled blond’s thoughts flew back to what he’s seen through his uncle’s magic mirror – the three Mages sitting out on their small balcony playing a game of sorts. And while Arthur had green eyes, the one whom he thought was the Red Mage had bright red eyes, while the third boy’s eyes were blue. A very dark blue, he’d noticed at the time, a rather unusual shade. Could it be that the boy Kohler was so taken with was also a mage?

_‘…you must forget about the mages. It’s a complicated story, but… becoming a mage is not a matter of choice. They have a twisted mind and deep down they are full of hatred for this world, because their lives have been stolen and their bodies crippled for the sole purpose of serving it.’_

Alfred didn’t know why the words persisted in the back of his mind, or whether there was any truth to them, but once they got to the Isle of Osmanthus he intended to do all he could to get to the bottom of it. Because there was something else etched into his mind beside doubtful words, it was _something_ he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes. And he didn’t think it was hatred for this world, wanting to be quenched with cruelty, but an endless sorrow needing to be soothed with love.

* * *

 

“What an unexpected pain in the ass this has turned out to be!” the Blue Mage observed.”But we should have imagined that there was something suspicious about King Francis’s Queen.”

“Maybe, but there was hardly any way we could have guessed the truth. The Necromancers’ puppets are not made to be seen in the open, they creep in the shadows and do dirty jobs, don’t they?” the Red Mage asked in turn, frowning. “But perhaps we could somehow find the means to make it public information, well, then it would mean that since Matthew is not even a living person and as good as a slave – and since no one can wed neither dead man nor a slave – King Francis’s marriage is practically invalid.” 

Arthur was tired, tired and upset. He hadn’t figured it at first, but upon returning to the palace and having some time to think, he’d realized that the White King could not have simply concluded a contract with the Necromancers on his own. By the Gods, how could a man who had lived his entire life on the continent even _know_ about those abhorrent body snatchers who lived far away in the Dark Lands and had the power to put life anew into corpses and bend them to one’s will? No, Francis had not known, he had been helped and advised in his endeavor, by none other than Galyel Ghok himself (for which reason the fortuneteller actually knew the truth, there was no other way he could have _discovered_ it). However, whatever reward the king had given had not been enough and now Ghok had decided to sell this precious information to the Order. The nerve of him!  

“Whether his bloody marriage is invalid or not is irrelevant, as long as he has a huge army with a ruthless commander,” he grumbled. “Do you not see the _other_ problem? Galyel Ghok has betrayed us! And if those who have sworn allegiance to the Order think that they can defy us with such ease, then it means that our position is not as strong as we thought!”

The other two Mages fell suddenly silent at this, eyes wide. Then Lukas nodded. “Then, we shall have to do something about it, won’t we?”

The green-eyed blond let his gaze wander past the curtains, at the bright blue sky outside. He would leave it to Lukas and Valentin to decide on a suitable punishment for the fortuneteller, but the deeper implications worried him nevertheless. It was only a matter of time until King Francis would threaten the Fourth Black Kingdom again, and the prince… well, the prince had left, but he wasn’t safe, was he? Arthur sighed, dropping back against the soft cushions laid out onto the carpet. Somehow, he knew that he had to keep the Fourth Black Kingdom and its future monarch safe, even if it would prove a daunting task. And his constant thinking of Alfred (yes, he dared call the prince by name in his dreams every now and then) was an ever growing burden onto his poor heart.  

“We will leave Galyel Ghok to the Lesser Mages, I believe they will take good care of him,” the Red Mage said. “For now we must think of a way to destroy the contract between Francis and his Queen. That is to say, someone must steal the King’s earring first.”

“Right, well I’m sure we could…”

Arthur was unable to follow the rest of the debate, because a servant walked in hurriedly and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Milord, the Master Osmanthus wants to see you, now.”

* * *

 

The young sorcerer would not allow his ultimate master to see him carried around by the servant, so he made the effort to stand on his own feet as he walked in the small chamber inhabited by the Spirit of the late sorcerer. All mages dreaded Osmanthus viscerally and on principle, but ever since Arthur had had his legs crushed with a hammer at his initiation ceremony, when he was only eight, he’d pretty much stopped fearing the dead sorcerer upon the belief that he could hardly come up with anything worse to do to him.

Osmanthus rarely asked to see anyone in private and it wasn’t good when it happened, because it almost always was to give some punishment of sorts for a stunt the person in question had pulled recently. And thus, the green-eyed blond could easily guess why he’d been called now. He stopped by the door, eyes down and not daring to look at the translucent shape of the old Mage, who for now seemed to observe something past the window, thoughtfully.

“Tell me, Arthur, have you read that book of Hectimus Heap, called ‘The Golden Binding’?”

“No, Master, I don’t think I have.”

The ghost turned around and the young mage saw that he had a thick tome in his hand. What crap was that, he wondered.

“It’s a highly educational work in support of the idea that an arranged marriage is something young people should be grateful for and look forward to,” Osmanthus explained, with a hint of hidden amusement (because as hard as it may have been to believe, the old bastard had a certain sense of humor, however twisted) and Arthur was instantly irked, because they were facing important issues and the ghost was pestering him with this bollocks instead.

“Isn’t that a book for young girls, Master?” he asked, barely restraining his ill-humor.

“Ah, yes, mostly. And for all those who choose to open their legs, you know,” the spirit replied, floating to where the blond stood, lifting his chin with two fingers and forcing him to look up. “So I want you to read it, by tomorrow. What do you think?”

Like hell, Arthur thought, his cheeks burning with humiliation. “I think, Master, that you already know I will do whatever you shall ask of me, without requiring any ‘educational’ works to be shoved down my throat,” he said shakily, gulping. “I’ve no doubt it must be quite a cynical piece of work…”

Osmanthus nodded. “Clearly. And while we’re amusing ourselves with the realm of books, I believe you are acquainted with the old tales of the Heroes?”

“Yes, Master, quite well. However, unlike arranged marriages, there haven’t been any Heroes for a thousand years…” Arthur couldn’t help being cheeky and the spirit shook his head, disapprovingly.

“Look, Arthur, I will speak plainly and you will understand the connection between the two. I have recently foreseen that soon enough the Prince Alfred from the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms will arrive here, and he will ask me for your hand in marriage. And I will give it to him if he fulfills the one task I intend to set for him.”

The young sorcerer gasped, eyes wide with horror. His mouth opened and he had a mind to beg for mercy, to sway the spirit’s mind somehow, but his own mind had gone blank, no words came.

“I will ask of him to travel to the Dark Lands and bring me the two Dragons which the Necromancers possess. If he does it, then he can marry you and have you as his Queen as long as he lives. His life will be a trifle compared to yours, so I don’t think it will be that much time wasted.”

“No… ” Arthur breathed, tears filling his eyes as he barely fought back his sobs. “Please, Master, you don’t have to do this to him… i-it wasn’t his fault, it was all mine! Punish me all you want, but you don’t have to send him to his death! Please…”

His already whispered voice died when the spirit’s surreal fingers gripped his jaw again. “I am not seeking to punish anyone, Arthur. But I want the Dragons, I’ve been wanting them for quite some time now and the prince will bring them to me,” Osmanthus said, surprisingly gently. “They will prove a very useful weapon to us, you’ll see. “  

“You speak as if he could do it!”

“And you speak as if he couldn’t. But I know you saw something in the young prince beyond… well, the obvious. I saw something too, and it is the fabric of a Hero. I too thought another was never to be born again, but it happened. After all, he is the nephew of Ivan Braginski, the rogue sorcerer.“    

But the green-eyed blond dropped to his knees, shaking his head and feeling faint. What was Osmanthus saying? Yes, the prince was brave and strong and… but a _Hero_? Heroes had a magic making and he’d felt nothing like that in Alfred, nothing, he was only a man! And even if somehow the spirit was right, it still wasn’t a guarantee that he could fulfill the bloody task!

“Go and get some rest now for the next few days, Arthur. We will want you to look your best for when the prince arrives, not have him think we’d just dug you up from some grave. So off you go! Oh, and I wasn’t joking about the book, either. I want you to read it by tomorrow.”


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

A/N – Hello everyone! (darn I really need to come up with something new to say, because this is becoming tedious, so if you have any suggestions, let me know :))) So again I’m not updating this as fast as I’d like to because I’ve started _yet another_ story (unbelievable, right?) – my first USUK omegaverse named **Reactive**.

* * *

 

The first thing Alfred instantly appreciated about the Isle of Osmanthus was the warm, always-summer weather he hadn’t even dreamed of before in his life. In the North even summers were somewhat chilly and the sun never seemed to shine as brightly as it did here. The harbor was quite full, ships of all sorts docked at the quay and many coming and leaving, the shore buzzing with a colorful crowd.

It turned out that their ship had a cargo of sorts, one that Kohler hadn’t bothered to talk about until now, and Berwald, Tino and the weird boy named Emil - who always had his puffin perched on his shoulder and barely ever said a word – set about to deliver it to their usual buyer, while the prince accompanied Mathias and Elizaveta in their search for proper accommodation, as the crew intended to stay for a few days on the Isle.

Despite having his mind set on his purpose, the blond took in the new sights excitedly, as any young man on an adventure would have done. The city past the mighty walls towering over the harbor was a wonder to behold indeed. Most of the houses were built of creamy limestone and there were countless lush gardens and artesian fountains to cool the hot air and the streets were paved with the sandy-colored slates, making everything look incredibly luminous. But aside from houses there were also merchants’ shops of all kinds, as well as the taverns Mathias had spoken of, and an odd mix of people (and _not only_ people) populating the enchanting surrounding.

Alfred had never seen lycans before – there were none to be found on the continent, he both supposed and hoped – but in truth the beasts were both frightening and wondrous to look upon. They made Osmanthus’s guards and they were everywhere to be seen, down at the harbor, up on the walls and patrolling the streets, all clad in heavy pieces of armor and various weapons at the ready, making sure no major disturbance was to occur in the city of Mages.    

The prince took his time to look around curiously as Elizaveta was pestering her brother about some beads she’d seen on a merchant’s table and suddenly his eyes fell on the impressively large palace placed on top of a hill, with massive ramparts and white towers soaring into the blue sky.   

“We will go to the Temple later,” the other blond said suddenly, pulling Alfred from his observations. “For now we should go and speak to Antonio about lodgings and get some cold wine. Besides, he must know what should one do if they seek an audience with the Mages.”

It sounded like a plan, the northerner thought, looking down morosely at his last remaining possession – the sapphire ring his father had put on his finger the day he’d turned twelve. He’d only worn it for seven years, but it felt like a lifetime and it was probably the ultimate betrayal towards his father to part with it, yet he found himself with no money and Kohler had not spoken a single word about payment for his work. Admittedly, it hadn’t been much work to begin with, other that scrubbing floors and pulling ropes…

“Do you suppose I could get enough for this to buy me a good sword and get me inside the Temple in the first place?” Because Alfred had decided that showing up before Arthur without as much as a sword would have given a disconcerting impression to say the least.

“It doesn’t work that way,” the green-eyed brunette piped up. “You simply go there and ask to see the Mages and if they want, they will receive you. If not, they won’t. Also, they don’t take money for consultations, but only if you ask for something to be done.”

Well, Alfred didn’t know whether asking his beloved sorcerer to marry him qualified as ‘asking for something to be done’ in the current way of business or not, but still, he needed some funds regardless.

“Did you go and see the Mages behind my back?!” Kohler cried, disbelieving.”Why?”

“I wanted to know if I would get married, so I asked to see the Red Mage,” the princess replied calmly.”He said for sure. A wonderful man will soon show up and claim me, and he will sweep me off my feet.”

“If I don’t break his legs first!” her brother snapped angrily. “I can’t believe you would do such a thing without my consent! Now I’ll go to the Temple myself and have a word with the Mage who told you such bollocks!”   

* * *

 

Fortunately the siblings’ argument ended fairly quickly and the group proceeded to the ‘inn’ Kohler’s crew always chose to stay at whenever they were on the Isle with business.  It was a pleasant building away from the main street and with quite the spacious yard, and the man named Antonio – not the innkeeper but an employee as it turned out (a stunningly beautiful one, too) led them to their usual chambers on the second floor. Much to Alfred’s dismay, he found out that the establishment was not actually an inn but a brothel – ‘very discreet’ as the pirate assured him – and he was shocked that Mathias would bring his sister to stay in such a place. The other prince however calmly explained that his sister was already old enough to know ‘what bed business was about’ and no one would look to kidnap a noble lady in such a place, since no one expected to find one there. It was perfectly safe in his view.   

“Worry not about tomorrow, my friend,” Kohler said good-humoredly later on, when the whole crew was sat around the dinner table in a small but pleasant tavern located at the foot of the city walls. “I will help you get a good price for the ring and then we’ll go to the Temple together. I may or may not change my mind about seeing the Red Mage and let him have it, but I won’t lose the chance to see the shield maidens!”

Elizaveta rolled her eyes with a funny grimace. “The shield maidens are the Mages’ special guards… Please Alfred, make sure my brother doesn’t stare too much or does anything disrespectful enough to get his head chopped off. Those girls in scanty armors and leather clothing are indeed very pretty, but they don’t have a lot of patience with men. Pfffft…”  

“As if they could resist me! I swore that when I’ve gathered up enough money to settle down I’ll get one of those to be my wife,” her brother boasted, getting his cup refilled.

The bespectacled blond blinked, looking rather confused at the other prince’s statement. “But I thought you said…” Well, he didn’t know whether the words repeated by Kohler in confidence should have been repeated in front of his sister and the rest of the crew, so he fell quiet.

“What I said about Lukas?” Mathias replied without hesitation. “Don’t get me wrong, I care about the boy, but he’s a merchant’s son, soon enough his family will chose a wife for him. Whatever we have between us will have to be kept under wraps while it lasts and a man has to think ahead, aye?”

Think ahead… Alfred suddenly felt the need to bury his face in his hands, taken by an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Keeping it under wraps sure sounded like a convenient concept… What if Arthur would have rather kept what had happened between them under wraps as well? What if-

“What is the matter?” Elizaveta asked, her small hand reaching out to his shoulder in comfort. “Do you grieve over some love of your own?” 

“No, um… I’m just worried about tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Feeling the new sword hanging against his thigh was somehow comforting, the prince thought, yet he grew more and more nervous as the moment which would decide his fate drew closer. What would Arthur say to him, especially in the light of the recent developments? Right now he made an awful suitor for _anyone_ , let alone for a young Mage. Would the sorcerer even want to receive him?

He and Mathias made their way up the path leading to the Mages’ palace – which held the Temple – and were confronted with the disconcerting sight of an impatient crowd who was also waiting to see the Mages. But the pirate prince was quickly distracted upon seeing the Mages’ guards, the beautiful shield maidens who were keeping unwanted intruders away from the entrance. They were all young girls clad in leather-and-mail sleeveless dresses which ended way above their thighs, showing up slender legs in knee-high boots. They were quite a distraction (especially if one chose to ignore the sharp tips of their spears and the gleaming blades of their swords) and Alfred felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of the Green Mage being surrounded by them.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait for too long, for the guards were making swift work of the potential visitors – apparently the Mages did not choose to see many people. The blond’s fear only grew at the sight of this, he would have rather waited for hours, days even, only to be allowed the hope that Arthur would accept to see him, instead of getting a quick rejection.    

When at last the two of them made it to the door, poor Alfred felt his knees weak and didn’t think he would be able to utter a single word. Kohler by contrast was without any nervousness about the matter whatsoever, and he stepped towards the shield maiden who was taking requests with a smug smile.

“My name is-“

“The Mages know who you are,” she interrupted in a mild voice, as if barely restraining from rebuking a silly child. “What do you want?”  

“I want to have a word with the Red Mage about the stuff he got into my sister’s head!” the wild-haired prince declared, irked for a moment but his anger melting into his usual wide grin. “And I bet a cute girl like you would not refuse me…” Ignoring Kohler, who was smiling like an idiot, Alfred took a small bow in front of the brunette in turn, humbly whispering his own request.

The shield maiden seemed to give him a thoughtful once-over, then turned on her heels and walked inside the Temple with slow steps, leaving the two to wonder what was going on. When she eventually returned, Alfred could read nothing on her face as she took her time before delivering the answer, instead gracing them with a blank stare. Probably courtesy of Kohler’s ‘smart’ approach from earlier.

“You can come in,” the brunette said at last, pointing at the northerner. “And you, sod off,” she bluntly advised Kohler.

“Oi! Don’t talk to me like that, woman!” the prince shouted, but she only motioned for Alfred to follow inside, leaving the other guards to deal with the pirate.

“Please forgive him,” the bespectacled blond muttered apologetically on behalf of his new friend. “I can assure you he meant no disrespect! “

“You can stop fretting now, nobody is going to eat you, prince,” the shield maiden said suddenly, her lips curled in obvious amusement.

* * *

 

He was led down a dark and pleasantly cool corridor, all the way to a set of double doors leading to what he was informed was the audience hall. The shield maiden explained that the Mage would sit behind a screen and by no means he should attempt to catch a glimpse of the man’s appearance. Or else. Saying that, she walked away, leaving the bespectacled blond on his own.

Alfred’s initial joy dwindled at that – it seemed that he would not be able to see Arthur after all, only hear his voice. It was cruel for his poor longing heart, but he remembered his uncle explaining that the Mages’ true faces had to remain hidden from the rest of the world. But if Arthur knew who he was, maybe he would make an exception?

Trembling hands found their way around the massive knob and he pushed the doors open, bashfully taking in the wide space faintly lit by silk-covered curtains. At the back end of the hall there was a large wooden grid of sorts behind which he could distinguish the vague shape of someone sitting down. The prince advanced with careful steps, as if not meaning to disturb, until he was only a few feet away from the screen, and unsuccessfully tried to peek through the gaps.

“Milord, thank you for accepting to see me,” Alfred said with a small bow, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I am grateful that you would allow me to speak my mind…”

For a short while there was no answer from behind the screen, only a sigh and a light swish of fabric could be heard, as if someone was fidgeting.

“I know why you are here, prince. But what you want is madness.”

The words nearly made the blond jump out of his skin in surprise (was that even Arthur’s voice? He couldn’t tell…) That and he was instantly chagrined by them, but really, had he expected anything else right away? No, he would have to plead his cause.

“Why is it madness, Milord?” he asked, resolving to be undeterred.

“Because even if I wanted to give myself to you, my body and my soul belong to the Spirit of Osmanthus. If I were to try and leave against my master’s will, he would devour my essence and I would perish. Therefore, what you came here to ask cannot be. I have to say that I am sorry you’ve come all this way chasing a dream.”

“I came chasing my love for you!”

“You came in pursuit of a childish infatuation,” the sorcerer replied coldly.

Alfred scowled. Alright, so maybe his uncle had been a bit right about the Mages, _a bit_. But he had a powerful card and by the Gods, he would play it. If the card of love failed, the card of war would win. “You are wrong, Milord. I am pursuing no childish infatuation and there is a reason why I have defied my father’s will.” He assumed that Arthur had probably found out about the ‘stunt’ he’d pulled and how he’d gotten himself disowned. “I would not see my kingdom weak in the face of danger as he would, and I’ve decided that you are a fitting Queen to keep it safe. If you belong to Osmanthus, I will then ask him for your hand in marriage.”

A loud snort came in reply.”Do you know who _I_ _am_ , prince? Even absurdly assuming that my master would see purpose in granting you your wish, do you honestly believe I would ever serve and submit to _you_? Do you think I would hold back from making your life a living hell for your insolence?! “the Green Mage nearly shouted, the rest being lost in an unintelligible grumble.

‘That’s certainly not what you were saying in bed’ the prince nearly had a mind to say, but refrained in the last moment. “We’ll see about that, Milord,” he replied cheekily, turning to leave.

“Wait!”

Alfred turned again, this time to see the tips of small, pale fingers gripping the screen from the other side as the figure now slumped against it.

“All those things you said… they’re not true,” the sorcerer said in a low, sad voice. “And besides, I am unfit to be your Queen. You don’t even know how I really look like, because I’ve been deceiving you all along. How do you know I’m not some perverted old man who only wanted to have his way with you?”

The bespectacled blond smiled.”I don’t know.” He hoped his nose wasn’t growing right now. “And I don’t care,” he added, moving to leave again.

“No, wait!”

There was a startling creak when a portion of the screen was pulled aside, finally revealing the boy Alfred had seen through his uncle’s mirror. Only he looked thinner, weaker as he was sitting there on some cushions, his legs bent awkwardly to the side and hands resting limply in his lap, not daring to look up at the prince. Alfred’s eyes fell on the cane at his side – the one he’d hurled at the Red Mage during the game – and he was able to put two and two together: Arthur was crippled, just like his uncle had said. The discovery was like a knife thrust in his gut – had Osmanthus done this to the poor boy upon becoming a Mage? What other horrors had he been subjected to? Had Arthur been punished for what had happened between them?! 

“Arthur…” he whispered gently, kneeling in front of the cushions and using two fingers to lift the other’s chin up. He nearly winced at the sight of the dark circles around those gem-like green eyes he’d missed so much and which shone with unshed tears barely held back.

“Arthur… tell me you don’t want me,” he said softly, taking one of the boy’s hands in both his own and placing a kiss into the open palm.

The young sorcerer breathed out, shaking his head with a helpless expression, even if he didn’t try to pull his hand away. “Please, don’t do this! Don’t ask Osmanthus… h-he knows… he knows what you want and he will give you a task… Please, Alfred, I beg you, he will send you to your death and I cannot-…” he whispered hurriedly, before Alfred leaned in and captured his lips with his own.

Arthur kissed back without hesitation, arms wrapping around the taller blond’s neck and fingers impatiently treading through his hair. It was almost painful as Alfred felt the tears now sliding down his lover’s cheeks, wasting no time in gathering the Mage in his arms as he planted hurried, hungry kisses along his jaw and down his exposed neck. The green-eyed boy tasted every bit as sweet as he remembered from their night together, his skin just as freshly scented and smooth under his fingers. And he loved Arthur with all his heart, not caring that his body was weak or his legs bad, all the more since he now saw the reason why the sorcerer had tried to push him away, just to keep him safe, at the cost of having his own heart ripped out in pain. Only he would not have it – he was strong and brave, worthy of Arthur’s hand and he would prove it, no matter what!

The smaller blond laid back onto the cushions, pulling Alfred on top of him as he brought their mouths together again, eagerly, and the prince was fleetingly wondering if this was such a good idea seeing how someone could have barged in anytime, when suddenly he felt that odd burn in his hand again. Only this time it hurt so badly and so brusquely that he yelped in pain, rolling onto his side as he stared in horror at the resurfaced black markings.

“What’s wrong?”

The sorcerer sat up with a confused scowl, only for his eyes to go wide at the side of the shapes on the prince’s open palm.

“You must come with me, now!”

**_To be continued_ **


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

A/N – Hello everyone! I know I haven’t updated this in ages – or at least this is how it feels to me – but my muses are fickle as hell, to put it lightly. Found some new inspiration though and so I was able to come up with an update ;) Anyway, without further ado, enjoy;)

* * *

 

“So… it’s true then,” Arthur said, shoulders sagging as he sighed, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the prince’s hand. “The marks are proof that he is… like Osmanthus said, a Hero.”

Alfred was still asleep after he’d passed out in the audience hall and the mage had ordered the servants to carry him to some private quarters inside the palace, where he could be examined properly. The black, spiderweb-like markings were still visible inside the palm of his right hand, this time only having only faded a bit but refusing to disappear completely. Such that the other two mages had had the chance to study them as well.  

“Osmanthus knew that the prince was coming for you?” the Red Mage asked warily. “Could it possible that he even… somehow planned this whole thing?”

The green-eyed blond sighed tiredly, plagued by his dark thoughts. “All I know is that he wants the Necromancers’ dragons and he will ask the prince to bring them here in exchange for my hand in marriage. He said as much, and trust me, he meant every word. I don’t know what Osmanthus might have planned or not, but I gathered that he’s wanted the dragons for some time now and  he’s very sure that prince Alfred can get them for him…”

“Like hell!”

“What does he hope to do with the dragons though?” Lukas asked dryly. “They can’t be controlled. And if he thinks to use them to wage war against King Francis they’ll get everyone and everything roasted. Some accomplishment that will be…”

Arthur scowled and swallowed back a sob. The other two didn’t seem to care that Alfred’s life would be in danger if he pursued his wish, but rather they wondered about their master’s plan with the Necromancers’ dragons. The hell with the bloody dragons, he thought with chagrin, knowing that the prince would not give up on what he wanted. Osmanthus _knew_ , so it would happen. But what if things were to go wrong after all? Not all Heroes of old had succeeded in their exploits, so what if Alfred was to fail his task? The Green Mage could not bear to live for the next five hundred years with the guilt of having sent his beloved prince to his death!

* * *

 

When Alfred woke up at last, the light of day had faded and he found himself in an unfamiliar room, richly decorated and perfumed with sweet smelling incense. A young man was watching him curiously and the prince stared a bit, confused, because the man looked somewhat like Arthur, with the same strong brows and impish expression, only his hair was fiery red and his eyes a much darker shade of green.

“Ah see ye’re awake mah lil angel,” he said with a grin, patting the blond’s shoulder. “Master has been expecting ye fer a while now and he’ll have a word with ye, if ye don’t mind…”

The prince sat up, albeit still dizzy, frowning as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He remembered those horrid marks showing on his hand again - where they still were like a lingering, faint shadow – and then everything had gone dark, like sinking into a deep slumber. Very distantly, he’d heard people fussing over him, voices speaking of things he could not comprehend and he’d felt a small, steady hand holding his.

He looked curiously at his surroundings, not knowing what to expect. And where was Arthur? He still had so many things to figure out, so much he’d wanted to ask the young mage before he’d passed out. It was a bit before the blond realised that a figure had somehow taken shape near the door without a sound – the translucent frame of an old man in a silk robe and with an impressively long, thin, white braided beard. His eyes were dark on his pale face and when he at length _spoke_ his lips didn’t move.

The specter let Alfred know that he was the one who in times long past had been the mage Osmanthus, having foreseen their encounter even before the prince had made his wish of love. That it was written for the son of Thorne to come here, where his true destiny would unfold from the magic fabric of his very being, now at last revealed. And then Osmanthus spoke of the task which Alfred was to fulfill in order to be granted Arthur’s hand in marriage – far away, into the Dark Lands, there lived those called the Necromancers, who could put life anew into dead things, and who possessed two mighty beasts – the Golden Dragon and the Silver Dragon. He was to bring the beasts to Osmanthus and the deal would be sealed.     

_If you still want to pledge yourself to this, tonight you will remain here. You’ll sleep in your beloved’s room, but you shall not, until the break of dawn, touch him in any way. If you do, all will be lost and the Green Mage will never be yours._

* * *

 

At length, when all the daze had worn off, the prince had remembered Kohler and realised he owed his new friend at least an explanation. A servant had escorted him back to the yard where people were still waiting even though it was getting dark already, and the pirate captain was there too, still angrily waiting to have a word with the Red Mage about his sister. 

Kohler listened to the bespectacled blond’s story with only some mild awe, as a man used to hearing many oddities. He was of course rather surprised that the mages would consider Alfred’s request, but he didn’t think the prince’s desire to be out of place. But the pirate’s interest wasn’t truly sparked until the Dark Lands were mentioned and, much to Alfred’s surprise, Kohler immediately offered that he and his crew accompany him in his quest, despite the great and unknown dangers lying ahead. He did not speak of any reward he might have been hoping for if the northerner was to be successful in his enterprise, but the prince could figure as much on his own. It was a great relief though to him that he wouldn’t be travelling alone and that there was a means of transportation at least, no matter how shitty Kohler’s ship really was.

The southern prince got lucky eventually when at length the Red Mage sent word through one of the shield maidens that he would be received, and the two of them parted after having agreed to meet the next day back at the inn where Kohler’s crew was staying. 

After that, the servant led Alfred back inside the Mages’ palace and the prince took in the surroundings in wonder as he passed through the intricate corridors and lush inner gardens. The Lesser Mages – boys and girls in fine silk garments – gave him some weird and curious looks, as if he was indeed something to be stared at, but the blond could not get himself to heed too much what he’d been told about his Hero making. His father had not wanted him to know much of the magic world and so Yao had not taught him other than vague bits about that side of history. Heroes were the stuff of fairytales and the prince had yet to fully believe he’d strayed into one himself, even if he found himself surrounded by mages and there were magic markings carved into his right hand.

He was eventually brought in front of a door and the servant left him without a word. Alfred glanced left and right down the empty corridor before knocking softly and pressing the knob. On the other side of the door was a comfortable, small chamber furnished with soft carpets and cushions, as well as a low bed in the middle. Arthur was perched on the low sill of a grated window which opened into one of the interior gardens, glancing outside with a blank stare.

The young sorcerer looked up as Alfred entered and a sad smile made its way on his pale lips. He looked like he’d been crying and the prince wanted nothing but to hold him in his arms and kiss away all the pain, only he remembered Osmanthus’s words of warning – he was not to touch the mage under any circumstances until the break of dawn, or all would be lost.  

“My King, what have you done?” the green-eyed blond whispered faintly. “You have sealed your fate… and mine.”

“Don’t call me that,” Alfred replied, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t deserve that title yet… and maybe never? Heh…”

“I am calling you my King because I was born in the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms,” the Green Mage said, his gaze wandering past the window again. “But it’s not something I think of, often.” He shook his head, as if that last bit wasn’t something he was supposed to say out loud.

The prince worried his lip while leaning shyly against the wall, wondering how much of what he wanted to know he was allowed to ask just yet. Would he ever get to the bottom of Arthur’s story? He had no doubt that it was a sad one, but it would have helped him figure his beloved and soothe his unspoken pain, for he could not bear to see him suffering.

“Were you taken by the Order from your home?” he asked, remembering what Ivan Braginski had said, how becoming a mage was not a matter of choice. He resolved that he would stop at that though, and not ask about other things.

Arthur snorted lightly in reply, smiling some more. “Don’t worry, in the end it was a good thing. The Order is a better family than the one I was born into. See, you’re not the only son who has disappointed his father in some way. I for one was a sickly, weak child and my father would always make sure to point out that every bit of food I put in my mouth was a waste.”

“But surely he does not think that anymore,” the blue-eyed blond replied. “Now that his son is a powerful mage.”

“Now he has no son at all,” the sorcerer said coldly. “I am free from calling him my father entirely.”

Arthur bit his lip, cursing himself for the sudden need to spill all that old bitterness in front of the prince. It was pointless anyway, since he’d already decided to take Osmanthus’s task upon himself. And there was no need to bring any of that up now, or ever for that matter. Perhaps, even if he was to return to the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms as its Queen one day, he would still be spared of being faced with the past.

It had gotten dark by now and the only light was coming from a small oil lamp placed by the bed. Shadows danced on the walls with its flickers and the prince nearly winced, startled when a servant girl slipped into the room without a word and left a tray of food on the floor.

“You should eat something,” the smaller blond invited, motioning towards the tray. He stood from his perch and sat down on a cushion, waiting for his guest to join him.

Alfred only realised he hadn’t eaten anything all day when he was met with the enticing sight of roast meat peppered with flavored herbs. It smelled great and his hand shot out to grab a piece, all sense of propriety forgotten for the moment.

“I don’t really know what a Hero should do,” he said with his mouth full, a bit of blush in his cheeks at the thought of embarrassing himself like this in front of his betrothed to be. “Maybe they’re not supposed to stuff their face like this…” 

The young mage laughed softly, reaching for some fruit and a cup of wine. In all honesty, he doubted the prince could eat as much as _he_ could drink on a good day. “I’ve once read of one named Engletoog, he was… um… a rather wild man. Don’t think he minded table manners too much,” he said.

“So… you like to read?” the bespectacled blond asked, pointing to the thick tome at the foot of the bed.

Arthur’s gaze flicked towards the forgotten item – he’d meant to get rid of that stupid book right after finishing it, at any rate he hadn’t imagined his beloved prince ever laying eyes on the damned thing! He looked from the book to Alfred’s slightly raised eyebrow and realised that the prince was genuinely curious… and that he would probably want to see it too. Hell.

“I like to read, yes, but that’s not… That’s ‘The Golden Binding’, master has made me read it when I told him this whole thing with the dragons was not such a good idea…” he grumbled averting his gaze.

“What binding?”

By the prince’s expression as he munched on his meat it was obvious that he hadn’t a clue about that outstanding piece of literature. Clearly no one had made _him_ read it, Arthur thought, not that Alfred was the kind of person to be swayed by such sugarcoated bollocks.

“It’s a story,” the smaller blond replied as nonchalantly as he could, taking a sip of his wine.”About a young girl whose parents decide it’s time for her to be wed. So they choose for a husband a man whom the girl didn’t even know and she was scared and chagrined about being never being able to find true love and such. But then the man turns out to be young, handsome and kindhearted and everything works out just wonderfully in the end. Such that she’d never actually had anything to worry about and rebel against her parents’ decision.” 

The prince had stopped chewing and looked like he was – with much effort – holding back a smile. “It’s a satire, I suppose?” he asked, clearing his throat in a tell-tale manner.

“Not at all. It’s an _educational_ read,” the mage said ill-humoredly.

“I see… then why did he make _you_ read it? After all, I am the one who disobeyed my father’s will.”

“I told you why. And you wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t… if…”  Arthur buried his face in his hands, unable to finish the sentence. Suddenly the memories of their heated night together washed over him anew, his cheeks burned and he found himself unable to look the prince in the eye anymore.

Alfred sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. By the Gods, right now the sorcerer looked so sweet and ingenuous it was hard to put into words. If he accomplished his task and married him, he would be the luckiest man in all the kingdoms of the continent! Of course, they still needed more time to talk at leisure and get to know each other a bit better, but the prince knew he wouldn’t be wrong in choosing the Green Mage as his Queen. At least as far as politics and defense were concerned, Yao would have said.

“It’s been a long day, I guess,” he said after a while. “We should get some rest now, you look worn out. And don’t worry, I gave my word to behave tonight.”

* * *

 

As soon as the servant girl picked up the leftovers of their dinner and retired, Arthur stood and walked to his bed, a blush still very much present on his face and endlessly irked by the half-assed stunt the Spirit of Osmanthus had decided to pull with his lover. A test his arse, obviously the Spirit would have sent Alfred for the dragons anyway! He waited for the prince to curl up on a pile of cushions with his back turned before he took off his clothes and slipped under the sheets, grumbling curses.

Alfred didn’t have it exactly easy either – he’d though he could just lie down and fall asleep, instead a tightness formed in his stomach when his ears caught the soft swish of the silk garments discarded by the smaller blond. The summer air was hot, barely soothed by the little breeze drifting in through the open window and he began to sweat a bit. His shirt came off and the prince curled up tighter, trying to chase away from his mind the enticing images of Arthur’s pale body stretched out on the bed nearby. When they were married, he would hold the green-eyed mage in his arms every night and kiss every inch of his skin.

At length he drifted into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of an endless journey on stormy seas. Only it didn’t last long, before he woke up abruptly and froze, realising that there was a naked body pressed tightly against his, almost unbearably hot. His heart pounded wildly with emotion for a moment, until the thought sank in and he was struck by absolute horror.

“Arthur! What have you done?!” he cried choking, tears already stinging his eyes. The sorcerer had made him touch him and now everything was lost!

“What? I haven’t done anything…” the mage’s voice muttered half asleep in reply.

The prince scowled, figuring that something strange was going on. “Arthur… where are you?”

“Here, in bed. Where could I possibly be?”

Right. Hard to say if this was good or bad, given the circumstances. “Um… I don’t know how to say this but… there’s someone next to me. Someone apparently… uh… lacking clothes?”

Arthur tsked and huffed, stirring under the covers. “Oi, whoever it is laying beside the prince, sod off now and don’t make me say it twice!” he shouted.

* * *

 

Thankfully the rest of the night passed without further occurrences, allowing the prince the much-needed rest before his quest would begin. As he opened his eyes, in the crude morning light, Alfred realised he’d rolled in his sleep, such that he’d ended sprawled face up on the floor next to the sorcerer’s bed and now Arthur was observing him thoughtfully, leaning over the edge of the mattress.

“By the Gods… you are so beautiful,” he murmured in lieu of any greeting, looking up at his beloved’s face and squinting.

Arthur smiled a bit. “It’s past the break of dawn,” the mage said, reaching down and drawing an invisible mark with his thumb over the blue-eyed blond’s forehead. Gradually, Alfred’s vision cleared until it became perfect and he realised he wouldn’t be needing his spectacles anymore. “Really, I should have thought of this sooner,” he said, leaning down to press his lips against his future King’s.

**_To be continued_ **


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

 

Dressed in nondescript clothes and with his face hidden by a grey hood, Arthur had sneaked out of the palace to walk with his prince down to the harbor, in the ever faithful company of his cousin Allistor. It was still very early in the morning, a light fog floating over the waking city, but the three of them walked in somewhat of a hurry because the pirate captain had sent word they would no longer meet at Antonio’s _inn_ , but right back to the ship. Apparently, the quicker they left the greater the chances of escaping without paying the dockage tax or something. 

There was a faint blush on the sorcerer’s cheeks and it made Alfred smile as he kept his fingers entwined with his lover’s – little did the prince know that it wasn’t so much because of him, but because the Fire Mage had slapped him in earnest earlier.

“Oi! Don’t ye give the prince tha’ face now, like someone just fockin’ died! Wha’ good do ye think it’ll do to ‘im if he sees ye like tha’ before he leaves on tha’ fockin’ quest?”

Allistor was right - Arthur figured – so he’d forced a small smile on his face, despite the frozen fright he felt in his very bones. He desperately tried to tell himself over and over again that Osmanthus had lived for thousands of years and his plans didn’t usually go awry. And that the spirit had chosen the prince’s quest out of his own interest and while being assured of its success. Unaware, he pulled closer to the blue-eyed blond as they walked and a heavy sigh escaped his lips when Alfred’s arm was protectively draped around his shoulders.

But their moment together ended way too soon, the pirate crew coming into sight on the foggy quay. Berwald, Tino and Emil looked every bit as indifferent and unenthusiastic as usual, but Elizaveta had a bright smile she wasn’t even trying to conceal, much to her brother’s chagrin. Kohler was grim because the Red Mage had pretty much laughed in his nose while explaining as if he would a child that every man or woman’s destiny was bound to take its course and his sister was indeed meant to find a man with whom she would share a great and passionate love. However, the accursed mage had given no indication as to said man’s status or wealth, which was most disturbing – of course, he could not _allow_ Elizaveta to get involved with just anyone! 

“I wouldn’t dare to impose but… could you maybe look into this?” the northerner prince murmured in the ear of his betrothed to be. “They’re my friends and I also find myself highly indebted for their help.”

The green-eyed blond nodded slowly. “Of course, I will speak to Valentin about his prediction as soon as I get back.” His face was still shielded from view, because the others weren’t supposed to get as much as a glimpse of it, so Alfred only embraced him tightly and then got down on one knee, kissing the mage’s hand affectionately.   

* * *

 

As the ship moved away from the shore, Arthur couldn’t help hugging himself tightly, subconsciously trying to retain the warmth of his prince’s arms around his thin frame. Tears pricked his eyes anew and he blinked them away quickly, for fear that if he allowed them to flow freely it wouldn’t have been long before he crumpled to the ground in despair.

“Do you think he’ll be back, Allistor? Do you really think he could-…?”

A firm hand grabbed the blond’s hood and pulled him back a bit brusquely. “Ah know he will! Do ye really think tha’ Master would waste ‘is time fer nothin’? Wouldn’t ‘ave bothered with the lad at all if he thought he couldn’t deliver.”

Arthur sighed, looking over his shoulder warily at his cousin. “Come now, we must return to the palace. We have things to do if Osmanthus wants to keep _dragons_ here, of all the bloody things he could want. We’re going to need some very large dungeons, I suppose…”

“We are NOT going back ta the palace right now!” Allistor announced with a wide grin. “If ye do, ye’re goin’ ta lock yerself up in yer room an’ drink yerself dead, ah know ye will. Let the troll an’ the otha do the work, aye? We’re goin’ to the continent today, ah ‘ave ta be somewhere!”

The sorcerer’s eyes went wide and he struggled to get free from the redhead’s grip. “What the bloody hell do you mean?!On the _continent_?”

“Aye! Ah ‘ave ta be somewhere an’ it would be fun fer ye too ta get away fer a wee bit!”

“What?! No-“

But before Arthur could protest further, his cousin whispered a spell and they were both gone in a white puff of smoke.

* * *

 

“Now where the hell are we?” the sorcerer grumbled, looking around with a frown. They were standing in the middle of a dusty and crowded street, the warm breeze bringing about a mixed smell of roasted food, garbage, manure and whatnot. Most of the houses looked poor and were painted in dull beige peeling away under the sun. People walked about with faces pale and sour brought by the never ending war which was placing a continuous strain on the White Kingdoms.   

“This is the city o’ Belza, in the Sixth o’the White Kingdoms. One o’ the poorest, ah’ll say, as ye know the capital looks far better,” Allistor explained. “But mah interest lies here fer now, an’ we ‘ave ta hurry, so ye won’t mind if ah carry ye fer a bit.”

The green-eyed blond yelped, nearly dropping his cane and scowled some more as he was picked up bridal style, trying to figure out what this could have possibly been about. He recalled a letter the Order had received recently from the King Patrick of the Sixth of the White Kingdoms – one of the few who had been allowed to keep their crown by Francis’s benevolence – requesting the Order’s help in finding a suitable Queen for his son, the Prince Roderich. But there was no way in hell the prince could have anything to do with this shithole!

“Um… this isn’t about the job we have to do, is it?” he asked as Allistor walked briskly in the direction of a tall, round brick building. It appeared to have several floors and colorful flags waved on top of the yellowish walls, which ended in decorated ramparts. Noises of a large crowd could be heard inside and there were armed guards at the high wooden gates.

“Nah, we won’t bother with tha’ just yet, mah wee bun,” the redhead grinned. “Now this ‘ere is one o’ those places where they trade slave women, fer bravery! True tha’ one’s got ta pay a fee ta get into the competition, but if he wins, gets himself a wee lass, he does!” As he said that, the Fire Mage slipped a few golden coins into the guard’s hand and they were allowed inside.

Arthur blinked. “WHAT?! You’re here to _win yourself a woman_? Are you insane?!” He tried to hurl the cane over his cousin’s head, but with the way he was held he couldn’t accomplish much.

“Mah wee bun, don’t jump ta conclusions just yet, will ye? Now ah’m not ‘ere ta win mahself a woman, ah’m ‘ere ta save a lady in distress! An’ not just any lady, mind ye!”

Inside the building there was an open, roofless space with rows of seats all around a relatively small sand-covered arena and to one side there was a dais where several girls were kept for the crowd to see. They were all chained to poles and a fat man with a riding crop in his hand was enthusiastically giving explanations to those interested, motioning towards one girl or the other. Among the girls one stood out in particular – a maiden of striking beauty, with icy blonde hair tied in a long braid down to her waist and dark blue eyes filled with disdain. She wore a rich dress of midnight blue velvet, unlike the other captured women who mostly wore rags.    

“No. No bloody way. Allistor, tell me _that_ is not who I think it is!” Arthur cried, eyes wide in confusion and slight worry.

“Aye, it’s the Princess Natalya, Ivan Braginski’s sister. She must ‘ave been travellin’ secretly an’ alone ta get some magic supplies, ah reckon. Don’t see how else they could ‘ave gotten their hands on her.”

The younger mage tsked, scowling. “But she is a powerful witch herself, why would she ever allow herself to be captured and subjected to this bollocks in the first place? Don’t you think it’s odd?”

“Aye, ah reckon she was bored an’ wanted a wee bit o’ fun before she made her escape, fer example ta see which brave man would fight fer her? An’ guess wha’, mah bun, ah’m goin’ ta be tha’ man! But ah promise ye, ah’ll be very careful, no one’ll figure out ah’m a mage, if that’s what ye fear. Ye reckon she’ll give me a kiss if ah free her?”

The blond facepalmed, knowing he probably couldn’t deter the other mage from his crazy plan. “It’s a stupid idea! Also, you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t chop your bloody head off…”

As predicted, Allistor only laughed and walked up some stairs, dropping him unceremoniously into an empty seat on a long wooden bench covered with thin, stained and worn out cushions. He went back down and placed a note with his name in a bowl placed at the foot of the dais, before returning and plopping into his own seat next to the blond to await his turn.

The fights weren’t awfully interesting as it was – one could have said they were as cheap as anything else around – and the young sorcerer wondered how come Natalya hadn’t chosen more refined means of entertaining (although his stupid cousin getting her as a prize and trying to steal a kiss from her petal lips was something Ivan Braginski’s sister surely wasn’t expecting). Much to his relief though, the men wrestled empty handed or fought armed with thick, heavy looking sticks, no fight was to the death. Which was good – he figured – because Allistor was experienced when it came to brawls and like this there was little chance he would get angry or endangered enough to set someone on fire and make his magic gift known.

“Would ye stop sulkin’ already,” the redhead asked, as his turn came and up on the dais Natalya was pulled away from the pole and pushed forward by the fat man. “’ere, buy yerself somethin’ ta eat an’ drink an’ fockin’ cheer fer me, will ye?” He slipped another few coins in the bony hand of an old woman and she walked away hurriedly, soon returning with a plateau and a full cup, which she placed in front of the blond.

Arthur curiously inspected the drink – it was a liquorish golden wine the south was famous for and, even if it was the cheap sort, after a small sip he decided it was acceptable, especially with the growing heat. However, the food was another story. On top of some yellowish herbs and dried lettuce lay something which looked like a fried rat, bits of back fur still attached to the roast skin.

“Oh, by the Gods!” the sorcerer moaned, his body jerking away in disgust at the awful dish and accidentally setting the plateau in motion. Arthur moved fast enough to save the cup from tumbling over, but the plateau along with its horrid contents slipped and spilled over the person sitting in the row in front of him.       

A man in a ragged black cloak stood brusquely upon feeling the stuff on his back and turned, and when the green-eyed blond saw his face he turned white as a sheet, swallowing back the unspoken apologies. King Francis’s handsome face – for much to Arthur’s shock and horror it was him in the flesh – lit into a wide, pleased smile.

“Well, well, fancy seeing you here, milord…. Arthur, wasn’t it?” Blue eyes swept quickly over the surrounding crowd, seeking to confirm the King’s suspicion. “And all alone too… Do you think that’s wise, milord? Does the Prince Alfred know what his little future Queen is up to, behind his back? Ohonhonhonhon… or perhaps that title is wasted on you now, since the fair prince was disowned by his father…”

As the smaller blond said nothing, scowling and pondering on how to deal with this unexpected misfortune, Francis leaned in, a golden strand flying loose from under his hood. “Either way,” he said, “I won’t take my chances with you again, vermin!”     

Before the other could even move, the King drew a long knife from his sleeve and lunged forward, forcing Arthur on his back in his seat and nearly crushing him under his body. The sorcerer’s eyes widened in dread as he saw the blade nearing his throat – he was still worn after using his magic to heal Alfred’s eyesight and he was in no condition to fight. Gulping and trashing helplessly, he twisted his head to the side to look for his cousin, but the Fire Mage was currently having a fight of his own to take care of.

“What’s the matter, weren’t you a great warrior?” Francis mocked him, “Now there seems to be no strength left in this tiny body of yours, ohonhonhonhon. Too bad that I’ll have to do this, you weren’t exactly an eyesore either.”

The green-eyed blond panted desperately and grit his teeth when the cold blade was pushed down, biting a bit into his skin. Still barely managing to hold the King’s advance with one arm, he reached for the fallen cane in the last moment and brought it upwards, thrusting his blunt tip into Francis’s stomach as hard as he could. His attacker choked suddenly, eyes bulging as he tried to stand up, and when the sorcerer hit him again he twisted awkwardly and with a surprised cry fell over the edge of his own row, landing face first into a tray full of sauces, food and drinks.

A ruckus immediately broke out, the King being promptly attacked by those whose meal he had ruined, but Arthur did not wait to see the outcome of that. As fast as he could, the mage picked himself up and hurried away from the scene, as fast as his bad legs could carry him. He very nearly tumbled down the stairs on his way out of the building, getting his knees and elbows scraped, but he didn’t look back even once. He sneaked out and scurried away, leaving the arena behind, helping himself with the cane and leaning against the walls, blabbering an unstoppable string of curses.         

Hood pulled down nearly to his mouth, Arthur only stopped to rest when he was well away and plopped on a small bench to catch his breath. His fingers carefully pawed at the delicate skin of his neck and he winced upon feeling a small stinging cut. Damn! When the blond finally dared to look up, he discovered his redhead cousin standing in front of him with a frown, a hand on his hip and the other firmly gripping the northerner princess’s wrist.

“Now where the bloody hell did ye run off like tha’, bun?! Mah heart nearly stopped upon not finding ye where ah’d left ye!”

In reply Arthur picked up the cane and hit him in the head. “IDIOT! King Francis was there, right on the seat in front of me!” he shouted.

“King Francis?” Natalya asked, raising an eyebrow, but the Green Mage ignored her.

“He tried to cut my throat, you bloody prick! And he very nearly succeeded too! How could you bring me to this shithole in the fucking White Kingdoms where all the bastards lurk?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Well ah couldn’t ‘ave known he was ‘ere, now could ah?” Allistor said defensively. “Not a place fer a King, this shithole as ye say, aye? Ah’m sorry! Ah never meant ta put ye in danger, ye’re mah sweet wee bun!”

Right then, as Arthur continued to scowl, Natalya tried to jerk her hand away from the redhead’s grip. “And just who the hell are you anyway? Let go of me this instant!” the icy blonde ordered coldly.

“Ah’m Allistor Kirkland, man o’ great endeavors, at yer service, Milady Natalya,” the Fire Mage said grinning, taking a bow and pressing his lips onto the girl’s dainty knuckles. Only as soon as he did that, he yanked her arm, pulled her to his chest and shamelessly kissed her mouth.

It didn’t take long though before Natalya managed to pull away and she slapped Allistor across the face as hard as she could.

“I know now who you are!” she shouted, red in the face and pressing her hand over her bitten lower lip. “You’re a blasted mage of the Order, and _you_ (she pointed at the blond who stood a bit further away, looking appalled), you are Arthur Kirkland, the Green Mage!”

The blond shook his head weakly, stepping back. “N-no, this is some sort of mistake…”

“Accursed mage, you should be ashamed of yourself for creeping into my nephew’s bed!” Natalya spat disdainfully. “You know, this says a lot about your Order! No better than the Nagas, are you lot? Just a bit more gifted with the magic, hah!”

Saying that, the icy blonde snapped her fingers and disappeared in a cloud of white smoke and Arthur buried his face in his hands – did _everyone_ bloody know about _that_?! The Naga was a renowned order of prostitutes and assassins for hire, all of them as proficient with their bodies as they were with their blades. At any rate, they were a dirty secret and not something decent people would have ever opened their mouth about. However, apparently Ivan Braginski’s sister wasn’t to be counted among decent people, as neither was he or his idiot cousin who had dragged him to such a foul place.

“Idiot! You are buying me more wine, right now!”

**_To be continued_ **


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

A/N – Hello everyone! Again I haven’t updated this in ages and I was just thinking that this May has been one year since I started this story… hopefully it will be done until the end of the summer, along with my other projects in progress. Anyway, there aren’t many chapters left, but they will be plot-packed so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy this just as much as I’m enjoying writing it ;) So, finally, an update (some PruHun in this one for a change – I warned you people it was going to happen ;))  

_Jeanne – Jeanne D’Arc (for plot purposes here she is King Francis’s younger sister)_

* * *

 

The blond prince lay stretched on the dirty, hay-filled mattress, staring blankly at the dark stone ceiling above. The stale, hot air of the dungeon was preventing any sleep attempts and drops of water would drip from the roughly carved walls from time to time, like the ticking of an invisible clock. A heavy silence had fallen upon their small group after unanimously reaching the conclusion that there was nothing else they could do but wait and see what would eventually happen. They were all tired too, after a strenuous two-week journey by sea, only to discover a poisoned, dark land (hence its name, Alfred had deduced) where nothing grew and the water was black and where the Necromancers’ guards had captured them as soon as they’d set foot on the shore.

The Head of the Necromancers was a lord named Kiku Honda and he was by far the most sinister character Alfred had seen in his entire life. His face was not without a certain beauty, but his skin was sheet pale and his eyes black like two pools of ink, shining with a strange, malevolent gleam. And lord Kiku held immense power and wealth over all of the Dark Lands because of the ‘puppets’ he made and sold - ones like the White Queen Matthew he’d learned the truth about from Arthur. Making the puppets from corpses was the Necromancers’ only trade, but it was incredibly successful and sought after, allowing them to have everything that their barren, inhospitable lands were not offering. 

Lord Kiku had shown some genuine amusement at the offer to trade the two Dragons his ancestors had created with their magic in exchange for whatever task he would give a Hero, even if he’d been slightly intrigued by the thought. In the end, he’d thrown the prince and his companions in the dungeons of his palace until he made a decision – whether to accept the challenge or put them to death for their audacity.

And so now Alfred found himself tormented by horror, not at the thought of his own fate, but at having put his friends in such dreadful peril. Could he even beg the Necromancer lord to spare at least their lives? To his surprise though, they seemed oddly confident in their luck changing for the better, especially Elizaveta, even if her brother grumbled about it every so often. Apparently the Red Mage had responded to Kohler’s anger by bluntly informing the pirate prince that he would too find someone soon and even be married – which meant that at least he and Elizaveta could not die in this filthy dungeon – but Alfred was in doubt as to whether this was to be believed. While he trusted Arthur wholeheartedly he was also inclined to heed his uncle’s warning in respect of the other two Mages, after all they had cursed his aunt Natalya to fall for her own brother.

Almost a fortnight had passed without a sign from lord Kiku and Kohler’s crew had fallen prey to a strange torpor which they suspected was the work of magic - probably the Necromancer wanted to make sure his prisoners would not attempt to escape his grasp. But that evening for the first time since their imprisonment there was a sound which alerted the prince, who jumped to his feet and gripped the bars while the others barely stirred.

Several pairs of steps – some lighter and others heavier - could be heard now distinctively in the dark hallway and soon two armed guards could be seen coming, accompanied by a smaller hooded figure. The group stopped in front of the cell and Alfred stepped back cautiously, as one of the guards moved to unlock the door. The smaller figure walked into the cell and unclasped their cloak and light, pale fingers pulled the hood back, revealing the face of a young, blue-eyed girl with blonde hair cropped short, almost like a boy’s. Her face had something oddly familiar to the prince.

“So…  Prince Alfred of the Fourth Black Kingdom, you seek to obtain the Dragons,” she said with a curious expression. “May I ask why? What do you hope to do with them?”

The prince squinted, thoughtful. Was this a sort of test devised by the Necromancer? He couldn’t just trust some unknown girl, no matter how harmless she appeared.  “Milady, I assure you that I am not with ill intent-“

 “Do you hope to win the war on the Continent?” the blonde interrupted, looking suddenly eager. “And if yes, can you do it? Do you think you have what it takes, Milord?”

Alfred took a step closer, watching the petite girl intently, and suddenly, putting two and two together, he realized why she looked so familiar.

“You are the Princess Jeanne, King Francis’s sister, aren’t you, Milady?” he asked softly, not knowing how to approach the matter. He knew that the White King had sold his younger sister in exchange for the warrior Queen, but there was no way of knowing where Jeanne herself stood. What if she was still loyal to her brother despite everything?

“Indeed,” Jeanne sighed, shaking her head. “Only I’m not _his_ sister anymore, now I am Lady Honda, lord Kiku’s wife. One could say that in the end I was lucky…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “My lord husband says that Heroes hold a great power! Therefore I will do all that I can to help you obtain a chance to get the Dragons if you swear to me, right here and now and on what you hold dearest, that you will do anything in your power to defeat my accursed brother and crush his dream of a continental empire once and for all!”

The prince inhaled sharply, for the first time seeing a faint hope in the lady’s promise. He knelt, bringing the girl’s small hand first to his forehead and then to his lips and kissing the stone of her ring.

“I, Alfred of the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms, swear on what I hold dearest to my heart that I shall not give up until I have fulfilled your wish.” 

* * *

 

Lord Kiku Honda was sat upon his iron wrought throne, his slender and strangely youthful body wrapped in an ample purple silk robe, his pale face unreadable as he held a dark orchid to his nose. His black eyes were trained curiously upon the group of prisoners as they were pushed forward by guards, in the sight of his whole court. Princess Jeanne sat at her master’s side, wearing a lavish outfit in colors matching Kiku’s and countless jewelry, but she too was pale and her shoulders visibly tense.  

“Tell me, Prince Alfred, are you married? Or, if not, intend to?” the lord asked out of the blue.

The blond blinked, surprised by the question. Was there any hidden reason for which it had been asked? “No, I am not, Milord. Perhaps I shall be wed eventually…”

“Not a woman, I should hope. Delightful creatures, but they make the most unreasonable demands.” The Necromancer smiled lightly, pressing the flower against his lips as he glanced at his wife. “To make my point, I shall tell you that my wife has asked me to give you a chance to win our precious Dragons by means of a challenge. I was very much inclined to refuse, but then I thought… well, my people hasn’t seen a Hero in more than a thousand years.”

Lord Kiku paused at the gasps resounding throughout the hall and took his time assessing the suddenly hopeful expressions of Kohler’s crew. And then a wicked smiled bloomed on his lips.

“They haven’t seen a Hero _die_ , that is… You will be given one chance and one chance only, my fair prince Alfred – you will face the two Dragons in their human form in a public fight and if you win, you can leave with them. But if you should lose, I will make very beautiful and useful puppets of you and your friends’ bodies.”

Thus the challenge was made and the six of them were sent back to the dungeons until the day of the fight, with the only lenience that they were free to walk around the dungeons and the first floor of the lord’s intricate dwelling place. However, the Necromancer warned them that no matter how many doors would open before them, none was leading outside and to freedom and they would be wasting their time looking for a way out.

Nevertheless, even as the guards were escorting the group back, there was a smile on Alfred’s face. There may have been a tough challenge ahead, but at least now there was a real chance he could fulfill the task and earn Arthur’s hand from the Spirit of Osmanthus.

* * *

 

Elizaveta knew she shouldn’t have sneaked out of their cell while everyone was asleep – maybe the fact that the Necromancer had given them permission to explore the dungeons and the first level of the palace before the fight was a trap meant to bring about their doom, aside from giving false hopes of escape. But she was curious and a strange gut feeling had stirred the brunette in the middle of the night, making her leave her cot. And she knew that in her place Mathias would have at least sought some loot to rob, but not her, Elizaveta was interested in no golden treasure. She wanted to see the Dragons, which were said to be the most magnificent magic creatures on Earth, in their real form if possible. The princess did wonder if the Necromancers had dungeons large enough to contain the beasts in all their might, after all they must have been quite big and needed space to stretch their wings every now and then. She thought that it would have been a shame if they were confined in their human form at all times and was curious to see whether their scales were really made of gold and silver as the legend went.

The brunette strolled for a while down the dungeon corridors, unbothered by the guards standing at their posts along the way in the light of flickering torches. She couldn’t very well _ask_ where the Dragons were, they weren’t going to tell her anyway. But the casual exploration did pay out eventually – soon Elizaveta found herself at the top of a deep, circular staircase leading below the level where the rest of the dungeons were and there she could pick up the vaguely sweet-putrid scent of raw meat which usually lingered around wild animal cages. 

It was pitch dark down the well, but the princess decided to explore the place anyway, and she descended carefully, one step at a time, feeling the damp wall blindly with her fingers. The smell was growing a bit more pungent and mixed with smoke as Elizaveta was going deeper underground and at some point she was sure she’d heard something like the flutter of large wings. Heart pounding in her chest, the brunette nearly held her breath in excitement as she reached the bottom of the stairs. To her surprise, down there two long obliquely placed stone shafts were allowing the air to circulate and a few faint moon rays to break the complete darkness. The princess could make out a narrow corridor next to what appeared to be the front of a very large cage – the upper end of the thick bars could not be seen. Yet the spaces in the grate were large enough to allow a smaller human to slip inside. This was odd.       

The flutter of wings was heard again, more restless this time and accompanied by something like a rattle of heavy chains and a bone chilling growl. And then, suddenly, there was a  deafening roar accompanied by a gush of flames which temporarily lit up various debris lying around and briefly illuminated the inside of the cage. And in the fire light Elizaveta saw the most beautiful and terrible creature which had ever stirred the imagination of mankind – a real dragon, in the flesh. Its wings were enormous and bat-like in shape, ended with sharp claws, its scales golden and shining like the sun on a summer day and its large eyes were a wondrous, cerulean blue, like the purest sapphires.  

Elizaveta remained motionless, with her back stuck on the stone wall in front of the cage, still stunned even as the fire went off and the darkness settled again. She knew that she should have been terrified – the beast could have turned her to ash with a single breath, even if it couldn’t leave the cage, yet there was something entirely different she felt in that moment, a powerful excitement that nearly made her breath hitch in her throat.

Then she heard chains rattle again and there was a sound of light steps drawing closer to the bars.

“Vho are you?” a raspy voice asked, causing the brunette to flinch and peel away from the wall. She took a step forward, squinting as she tried to see who was speaking.  

“I am Princess Elizaveta of the Sixth of the White Kingdoms. And you are…?”

Drawn by an irresistible urge, the princess stepped even closer to the cage, discovering the owner of the voice at last. There was a young man, very handsome and yet very strange looking, standing on the other side of the bars and watching her curiously. His skin was unearthly pale and seemed to have a faint glow in the moonlight, his short spiky hair was silvery and his eyes were a dark garnet color. And suddenly Elizaveta recognized him – it was _him_ , without a doubt, the white knight she would sometimes see in her dreams, those certain dreams from which she would wake panting, all hot and bothered. A blush instantly crept on her cheeks, all the more since she noticed the man’s torso was bare. 

“Milord!” she whispered, looking back towards the stairs, worried the guards might hear her and come running. “What happened to you? How did you get locked in here? And why did they put you in here with the Dragons? What if-”

The young man blinked, his head tilting slightly as he stared, a hint of hidden amusement in his expression. “Vhat do you mean, ‘put me in here vith zhe Dragons’?” he asked, his words bearing a strange accent. “Are you making some sort of confusion, princess? Vho do you zhink I am?”

“Wha-… you’re a knight, aren’t you?”

“A _knight_?! Did you hear zhat bruder? Kesesesesessss!” the man laughed, sharp white teeth gleaming as he did. “Zhat vas a good one, never heard it before, princess. But surely, zhat vas a joke, ja? You know I am zhe Silver Dragon, right? Apologies for scaring you earlier, ve are habitually rude. I am also called Gilbert and mein bruder is called Ludwig, the Golden Dragon.”

“Vere you sent down here as some late dinner?” Ludwig asked from the shadows, but his brother waved dismissively, still curiously examining the brunette.

But Elizaveta only shook her head, mortified. “No, no, no-… this can’t be true! I know you, I saw you in my dreams so many times! It was _you_ , I know it, I’m sure it was you! And we… we… uh…”

“Ve did vhat?” asked the dragon, genuinely interested. “Vhat did you dream about me?”

Well, not something she could say out loud, obviously… “I…uh… in my dreams you _were_ a knight and you’d come visit me and we would… uh… talk.”

“Hmm… I vould be more inclined to believe zhat ve vere doing something else, if you did dream of me, zhat is,” Gilbert replied, with a grin which reminded the princess a lot of her brother’s. “But if ve vere talking, mind telling me vhat it vas about?”  

The brunette bit her lip, thoughtful. “Uh… we were talking about… uh… our kingdom. Yeah, that was it, our kingdom.”

“Ah, zhat is very strange, because I don’t haff a kingdom and you haff lost yours. So neizher of us has a kingdom to speak of. I zhink you’re trying to trick me vith some clever tale. See, ve know about you and your bruder and zhe prince vho vants us as a prize… Ve know everyzhing, zhat’s vhy ve are Dragons and not some dumb beasts,” the Silver Dragon stated, stepping away from the bars, chains rattling as he withdrew into darkness.

 “No, Gilbert, wait! Please!” Elizaveta lunged forward and gripped the cold bars, blinking back tears. “I don’t care that… that you’re a Dragon, or about the prince, or anything! The Red Mage from the Isle of Osmanthus told me that the man I saw in my dreams is _the one_ , and we are destined to be together! And we are destined to share a love like it has never been!”

“Zhe stupid mages haff nozhing better to do zhan talk shit about vhat zhey don’t know,” the Golden Dragon grumbled from somewhere in the back, snorting disdainfully. “Ve vill fight your prince and ve vill feast on his roasted bones.”

“I tell you vhat,” said the Silver Dragon after a few moments of silence. “If you speak zhe truth and zhat is indeed vhat you believe, come to me. Ve are kept in chains but you are a tiny girl, you can slip through zhe bars. Of course, ve could rip you to shreds and roast your bones, like bruder says, but if vhat you say is true zhen ve vill not harm you, ja?”

The brunette gulped, rather hesitant. But did she really have a choice? It was unlikely that Prince Alfred could defeat these all-powerful creatures in a fight, and then they would all die anyway. And she would have rather be turned to ash in an instant than let the Necromancers use her body to make one of their puppets. Taking a deep breath, Elizaveta gathered all her courage and slipped through the bars, scrutinizing the depths of the cage. Some old, dried fragments of bone crunched beneath her soles as she walked inwards, but the princess would not let herself be deterred until she was standing right in front of her beloved.

“Gilbert, I am yours.” 

* * *

 

A while later, the princess stirred lazily under the fur covers of the dragon’s sleeping place, snuggling closer to her lover’s bare body. Gilbert grinned, running his fingers teasingly over the brunette’s smooth skin, still glistening with sweat, before leaning over to kiss her again.

“Then, will you come with me?”

“Of course I vill come vith you, Elizaveta, my treasure. You know how dragons are about zheir treasures, don’t you?”

**_To be continued_ **

**_A/N – And now one of the most important confrontations of this story is about to take place! But tell me, dear readers, are you faint of heart? Should I go easy on you or unleash hell? Hehehe ;)))_ **


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! I am painfully aware that it’s been more than a year now that I’ve started this story and that I’ve been ‘boiling’ you people for much too long in wait for the plot unfolding and finale. But we’re getting there, so don’t worry, things are drawing to a close pretty soon ;) Anyway, for now enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

 

The prince was blinded by the bright light and deafened by the roars of the crowd as he was led out by the guards into a very large and quite deep pit surrounded by tall stone walls. It resembled an arena of sorts, only much below the ground level, and the audience and the Lord with his court were placed on seats high above it, having a perfect view of the place.

Alfred found the setting rather odd and ominous – Lord Kiku had said that the Dragons would fight in their human form, but this place was more suitable for some very large beasts. Had the Necromancer lied? He didn’t put it past the man to do so, and now was too late to change anything and he wouldn’t have let his friends die if there was the tiniest chance of success.

The blond had chosen from the armory a simple black steel breastplate which didn’t hinder movement – a more elaborated armor would have only been heavier and probably ineffective against the Dragons as it was – and two twin long swords. He’d politely refused Kohler’s offer to borrow the long-handled battle axe, Alfred had never had any training with such a weapon and it seemed rather awkward and un-maneuverable.  Aside from that he placed some faith (although not much) in his Hero powers the Mages were counting on, even though he hardly knew what exactly they consisted of. The prince could only hope that they would somehow manifest at the opportune moment.  

Up in the first row of spectators Alfred saw the pirate prince and his crew, all displaying surprisingly different moods. The two boys, Tino and Emil, were as indifferent as ever, the giant Berwald was his usual grumpy self, curiously enough Elizaveta looked as if she was barely holding back a happy smile and, slumped in his seat with his arms folded and shoulders sagged, Kohler was absolutely ashen. 

The pit had four iron gates disposed at equal distance at its floor level, the prince having walked out through one of them. He guessed that the Dragons were bound to emerge through the other ones and indeed, the sound of rusty bars lifting distracted the blond from wondering what was up with his friends, instead making him focus on what he was about to face.

One of the gates opened slowly, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered young man clad in a light armor made of black steel with streaks of gold. His hair was wheat blonde and his eyes a striking blue, like the waves of the sea on a summer day. The crowd cheered for him as he walked out with slow but purposeful steps, a look of disdainful boredom on his otherwise handsome features. Alfred sized him up – this one, the Golden Dragon he guessed, was supposed to be the more powerful of the two.

Soon enough another gate opened as well and the Silver Dragon also emerged from the shadow of the dungeons – a somewhat more slender man with silver in his armor for a change. The same silvery shade was his short spiky hair and his eyes were of a bright red, shining like gems. And unlike his brother the Silver Dragon sported a wide, smug grin, similar to Kohler’s. He walked out and bowed to the cheering crowd, before his eyes landed on the prince and his grin grew even more.

At this point Lord Kiku rose from his seat and said something, a few words the prince did not hear because something else drew his attention – the Silver Dragon’s gaze trailed up to the audience and Alfred followed it involuntarily… to Elizaveta. There was no doubt, the silver-haired young man was looking at her and even winked briefly, while the princess smiled shyly in return. The northerner scowled, uncomprehending. What the hell was going on? Had Kohler’s sister betrayed them? Was that why-…

“BEGIN!”

A gong was struck somewhere above and Alfred saw his opponents taking up positions and the Necromancer lord smirking amusedly behind one single dark rose. And right then, without warning, the Golden Dragon blew a powerful jet of fire, a hot gush of air hitting the prince right in the face and making him stumble a few steps backwards, in the same time as he was surrounded by a circle of flames.

“Bruder, ve are supposed to fight vith swords, vhy must you cheat like a dumb lizard, du pain in zhe arsch,” the other Dragon chided loudly and the crowd laughed.   

Alfred quickly wiped the soot off his face with the back of his hand and drew both his swords, ready to strike as he watched the Dragons’ every move. But they were only circling him from afar, beyond the ring of fire, looking for an opening to take him by surprise.  Arthur had warned him that the Dragons were wicked and cunning, even more so than the Necromancers.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he challenged. “Are you unsure of your strength?”

“Ve are not unsure of anyzhing, don’t you vorry,” the Silver Dragon chuckled. “As for zhe game… I vill tell you. Ve are playing a screwing game, kesesesesesesss. But can you guess vho ve are trying to screw?”

The blond nearly rolled his eyes, despite the deepening scowl. Of course the Dragons would mock him, their master had done it too. He gripped the swords tighter, the inside of his right hand beginning to itch in a strange way. The Golden Dragon seemed to notice that something was going on, because his gaze narrowed and his sharp teeth were bared, thin twirls of smoke coming out of his nostrils.   

“Zhen show us vhat you’re made of, prince!” he spat, lunging with the broad sword pointed forward, in a direct attack.

But Alfred dodged the weapon with ease and then blocked the blade with his own, their swords then clashing fruitlessly several times, making sparks fly every time the steel collided. The Dragon was getting more worked up with each missed blow, but in the same time he was also unreachable, there was no breach in his defenses. He was way too strong and skilled and soon enough his brother found the opportunity to join in the attack, such that the prince had to face them both now. But the Silver Dragon was also cunning and hell-bent on playing dirty too as it turned out, because at some point a long, scaly tail sprang out of the back of his armor and lashed at the prince’s legs, making him trip and fall on his back, his right blade flying from his hand.

“How disappointing zhis has turned out to be…” mused the Silver Dragon chuckling, while his brother advanced to strike a decisive blow on their fallen opponent.

But in that very moment Alfred’s right fist tightened almost with a will of its own and slammed into the ground with such force that the arena floor shook, literally throwing the two dragons off their feet. The audience roared wildly at the unexpected stunt, while the prince jumped to his feet – swinging his remaining blade to his right hand - and attacked the Golden Dragon with a few rapid strikes, pushing him back and eventually kicking him in the stomach with his boot.

The other blond stumbled, growling and suddenly released another jet of fire and thick black smoke. Alfred shielded his face with his hand in the last moment, but felt the burning heat as the flames touched his vambrace. That single moment of distraction was enough to bring a cold blade to the side of his neck. He turned on his heel and saw the Silver Dragon grinning, but then the blade was withdrawn. The prince did not have time to try and make sense of what had happened, he just took the opportunity to thrust his sword in full, piercing the Dragon’s upper breastplate, just above the collarbone.

“Sorry, it had to look like ve vere trying,” the beast drawled, staggering and dropping to his knees as he clutched the bleeding wound and tossed away his sword in defeat.

Alfred didn’t dwell on how rather strange that had been, because the Golden Dragon was coming and he was more furious than ever. He too tossed away his sword, but only to nearly knock the prince off his feet with a blow of his bare fist. Alfred jumped back, dodging it, but Ludwig pursued, iron hard fingers closing around his throat. The air left the prince’s lungs and the sword slipped from his hand. He threw a punch to the Dragon’s jaw and it was like hitting a brick wall, but hell, he would not give up! Gritting his teeth, the northerner gave his all, stomping on the other’s foot in the same time as he headbutted his nose with all his strength. There was a sound of cracking bone and the Dragon let go, blood gushing from his nose as he sported a shocked expression. Alfred did not give him time to recover, instead struck again and again with his fists, eventually gripping his opponent’s shoulders and throwing him on the ground with him on top.   

“Yield!” he demanded.

* * *

 

The next thing Alfred saw was Lady Jeanne’s smile before the guards appeared again and led him out of the arena, up the victors’ ramp, while the crowd cheered, not because they really cared but because they’d enjoyed some good entertainment, he guessed. A dizzy spell was slowly creeping up on him, but the prince ignored it as he headed to where his friends were, their previous moods pretty much unchanged.

“We won,” he panted, tired but happy, reaching out to pat the pirate prince’s shoulder. “We are free, my friends!”

 “What the hell are you talking about?! Do you know that while we were sleeping last night my sister was fucking the Dragons?!” Kohler yelled, gripping his arms and shaking him roughly.

Alfred’s dizziness suddenly increased tenfold. “Wha- You mean both of them or… just one?”

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?! She’s had an affair! Don’t you realize what it means?!”

Right then the brunette jumped between them, shoving her brother aside with a sharp elbow blow. “Please Alfred, he’s being unreasonable, you must explain to him that I love Gilbert!”

“W-Who’s… Gil-bert?”

“The Silver Dragon! His name is Gilbert.”

“Ah…”

More shouts followed, but the blue-eyed blond was unable to make out the words. His vision blurred, then darkened completely and he collapsed on the hard ground, unconscious.

* * *

 

When Alfred first opened his eyes, he feared that he was still captive inside the land of dreams, although for once it was a beautiful dream. His beloved sorcerer was by his side, cooling his forehead with a wet cloth.

“Arthur…?”

“Yes, Milord?”

Damn, how difficult would it be to make the Mage call him Alfred instead of all those titles? But there was time, there was time… or was it? He had to know what happened, it felt like he’d slept an eternity… But the sweetest answer came when the green-eyed blond pressed his lips against his moist forehead, then his cheek and told him:

“It’s over, my King, you fulfilled the task. The Dragons have been brought here and the Spirit of Osmanthus is satisfied now.”

“And he no longer objects to the marriage?”

Arthur smiled. “No, he no longer objects.”

The prince let out a relieved sigh. If only his body didn’t feel so numb, or his skin so hot, by the Gods! “Arthur, I love you… but I don’t feel too well.”

“That’s what happens when one uses too much of their magic,” the sorcerer explained shrugging. “It takes time to resupply and you must rest while it happens. But you will be well in no time and don’t worry, the argument going on when you passed out hasn’t ended yet, eheh…”

Alfred took a deep breath, letting his eyelids drop. “Then, you think I’ll be well soon enough, for the wedding?” The silence following his question made him open them again, to see Arthur set the cloth aside with an awkward expression. “Arthur?” But the smaller blond only worried his bottom lip, as if he wanted to say something and didn’t dare to.

The prince forced himself up on his elbows, run through by a cold shiver. “Arthur, if you don’t want to-“

“No! No! I do! I do want to marry you!” the sorcerer cried, kneeling beside the low bed and cupping his face with both hands. “But the thing is… I was thinking that maybe… we could have a smaller wedding? Like… very small and very simple and… to end quickly?”

The blue-eyed blond’s lips curled into a smile. “By the Gods, are you _that_ impatient?” he teased.

“No, it’s… People here don’t really like weddings and I rather dread it, to be honest, seeing how the last ceremony I was center of didn’t exactly go too well…”

It was the best phrasing he could come up with, really. ‘Rather dreaded’ was an understatement, Arthur was absolutely terrified at the thought of a _ceremony_ , but there was no way he could have told the prince about how they’d broken his legs with a hammer during his initiation, when he’d officially become a Mage and part of the Order. He’d been only eight years old at the time, but that horrible memory was ever fresh in his mind and kept so by the infirmity he had to struggle with every single day. But Alfred couldn’t know, he couldn’t be burdened with something like this, it would have only broken his heart.

“I understand, you’re nervous,” the prince said with a soft smile, leaning back on the pillows. “But I don’t mind, nor do I want anything big either. We’ll settle for the simplest marriage ceremony Osmanthus can perform.”

* * *

 

When it was all eventually over – and thank the Gods Osmanthus didn’t have the patience for any ceremonies without magic purpose - Arthur breathed in relief, although he realised that he was still clutching the prince’s hand like his life depended on it. They would be going back to his small room for the night, fortunately without any more silly challenges this time.

Walking next to the Mage, the blue-eyed prince could hard help a wide grin stretching his mouth. Arthur Kirkland was at last his wedded husband and future Queen, his forever Queen!  

“Well, before I let tha two o’ ye ta yer own devices now, ah must remind ye tha’ on tha weddin’ night the newlyweds ‘ave ta confess ta each otha’ any hiccups which might ‘ave happened… ye know… in tha’ meantime,” Allistor kindly reminded the couple with a grin as they stopped in front of Arthur’s bedroom door. With that, the Fire Mage turned on his heels and walked away, whistling a silly tune.

Grumbling a swear under his breath, the green-eyed blond opened the door and marched in, hastily closing it in Alfred’s wake. His stupid cousin had a horrible timing, to put it mildly, and if he were completely honest he would have done without telling the prince about the incident Allistor was referring to. It wasn’t a _hiccup_ either, unless one was really into appearances and absurd protocols. But there was a risk that after Arthur was crowned Queen the bastard King Francis would spread rumors that he’d been seen in inappropriate places, so it was best if he came clean about it now.

“I’m not sure what Allistor meant with that,” Alfred said, turning to face his beloved. He looked uncertain and a tad worried.“Are you suspecting me of anything? Do you think anything might have happened while I was away?”

The sorcerer shook his head quickly. “No, no! Alfred, it’s not-… I would never harbor any ill thoughts of you, never!” He looked up at the prince and chewed on his bottom lip, not knowing how to say what he now had to. Would his husband be very angry about it? “Actually, it’s something that _I_ have to tell you…”

The prince’s face fell visibly and Arthur instantly gripped his forearms, as if he were afraid the blue-eyed blond would collapse. “I didn’t cheat on you or anything, my King, I wouldn’t dream of it, I swear! It’s only that some shit happened and it’s best if you hear it from me now than afterwards from the wrong mouth and with twisted words!”

“Some shit happened, you say…” Alfred repeated, confused.

“I’m not sure how to phrase it otherwise.”

“Well?”

The smaller blond took a deep breath. “My idiot cousin is in love with your aunt Natalya.”

The Fire Mage was in love with Ivan’s little sister? Alfred hoped his uncle wasn’t aware of it or there wouldn’t have been the happiest circumstances. But still… “I see, but what’s that have to do with us?”

Arthur bit his lip anew. “The thing is… on the day you left for the Dark Lands I was so upset and worried that my cousin feared my nerves would break or something. And he’d also found out that your aunt had for some reason allowed herself to be captured by slave traders and she was to be auctioned in exchange for bravery at one of the fighting arenas in the White Kingdoms. So he took me there, so that we’d rescue her…”

“And you fought for Natalya, then?”

“No, he did. I just sat and watched, for a while at least. And then the damnedest thing happened… I accidentally knocked my food over the person sitting in front of me and they turned out to be King Francis. I’m afraid he recognized me and… he attacked me with a knife.”

Alfred’s eyes widened in horror and he lunged forward, pulling the sorcerer into a tight hug. “Goodness, Arthur! But he didn’t hurt you, did he?! And what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know he was there, did I?” Arthur defended, still breathing in relief as he felt his King nuzzling his hair. “He didn’t hurt me though, I fought him with my cane. Pushed him over and he fell face-first in a tray of sauces… I am worried that after this he will be spreading rumors, if he hasn’t already. Are you very mad at me, my King?”

But the prince only chuckled, wrapping his arms around the sorcerer’s waist and hauling him up. “Only that I missed seeing King Francis falling face-first in a tray of sauces,” he said, laughing.

**_To be continued_ **

**A/N – Sorry people, I don’t write weddings, so no syrupy bullshit here… but I have a pretty strong suspicion that you will like what’s coming ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! (yep, this is me always in search of new greeting formulas and finding none…) Anyway, as I may have mentioned or not, this story is drawing to an end, now that Alfred completed Osmanthus’s task and was finally allowed to marry the mage Arthur Kirkland (whether this is a good or bad thing only time will tell :)))). But Francis is still at large, planning to make the continent and all of the Black and White Kingdoms into his empire. So let’s see what happens next, shall we?

_Vash Zwingli - Switzerland_

_Lily Zwingli - Liechtenstein_

* * *

 

A coy smile graced the prince’s lips as he began disrobing slowly, eyes trained on the green-eyed boy who had already slipped into the small bed and had pulled the covers up to his nose. Once his clothes were piled onto the floor, he walked up to the bed and made his way silently under the sheets, smile never leaving his lips as Arthur’s eyes widened even more and his breath quickened almost inconspicuously. Alfred sought his beloved’s hand under the covers and took it gently, bringing it up to his lips and proceeding to place soft kisses from the thin wrist, over the palm and all the way up to the tip of the sorcerer’s fingers.

“Arthur, I love you.”

The smaller blond drew a shaky breath. “I love you too, my King.”

“Alfred.”

“A-Alfred,” the mage stuttered and inwardly cursed his nervousness. Only every touch of the prince’s lips on his skin made his heart beat faster and faster, until he thought it would burst out of his chest. Pretty much like the first time, only that then Arthur had appeared to his beloved like a magical, beautiful being and not his true, crippled and not particularly appealing self (or so he thought). He pulled his hand away, instead cupping the blue-eyed boy’s cheek and stroking it with his thumb.

“Alfred, before… um… I-I have something to tell you.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, then inhaled deeply. Well, better come clean about _that_ too. “Uh… the first time I tried to… um… well, you see, I am a mage therefore I must at all times appear wise and knowledgeable and… and not… inexperienced and such. Y-You know what I mean?”

The prince leaned in and playfully tugged at the shell of his ear with his teeth, not-so-subtly stifling a chuckle. “Absolutely. But you still should have told me, seeing how it didn’t go too smoothly and besides… isn’t a mage also supposed to be also virtuous?”

Arthur felt his cheeks instantly burning at that – first recalling Princess Natalya’s comment about how he’d crept into her nephew’s bed, then Alfred finding out about Lukas and Kohler… Damn! “I-It’s not necessarily a requirement… Also, _it was supposed_ to go smoothly, I even know a special spell for that, only then I forgot it in the last moment, just-… my mind went completely blank,” he murmured under his breath, burying his nose in his husband’s shoulder. At least he’d remembered it this time.

“Arthur, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I wouldn’t want you to ever have been anyone else’s but mine,” Alfred said, lifting the smaller blond’s chin with two fingers and searching his lips with his own. 

His tongue licked at the other’s bottom lip teasingly before he deepened the kiss, drinking in Arthur’s soft gasp and tracing the shape of his ribcage and impossibly slim waist under the covers. The slightly calloused tips of the blue-eyed prince’s fingers trailed over each and every bump of Arthur’s spine, making his body arch and press more against his, skin on skin.

Then his mouth slipped lower, down the sorcerer’s jaw line to his pale throat, then further down to his collarbone, hand tugging at the sheets and making the fabric slowly reveal more and more of his beloved’s body, just ahead of his lips. Eventually he shifted and moved above his lover to ease his movements, inhaling deeply the other’s fresh scent and lips and fingers gratefully exploring the mage’s smooth-as-silk skin.

Arthur let out a loud gasp when his navel was sucked and nipped at, a warm tongue tracing its outline and dipping inside. Then his beloved’s hands gently lifted his hips just a bit off the mattress and soft lips found his already aching need and enveloped around it, proceeding to deliver the sweetest torture.

Short nails grazed the inside of the sorcerer’s thigh and fingers explored one slender leg, bending the knee slightly upwards. Keeping his lover blissfully distracted with his mouth, Alfred used his fingers gently to make sure that his husband hadn’t messed up his… _magic_ again and that he was ready.

And then, suddenly and in one quick move Arthur found himself pulled off the mattress and up to straddle the taller blond’s lap. A spike of pleasure shot up his spine with the motion and he nearly cried out, wrapping his arms around the blue-eyed prince’s shoulders and connecting their mouths once more as his lover began to move, each thrust sending him closer to the edge.

A short while later Alfred collapsed on top of his lover, tired but incredibly sated, cheek pressed against the young mage’s heaving chest. His fingers crept over the mattress until they found his husband’s and intertwined with them.

“Arthur?” he murmured, raising his head and propping his chin onto the deliciously sweaty skin of his lover’s chest. He had a mind to lick it clean, but there would plenty of time for that. “I have something to ask you too, and I was meaning to do it before… only I forgot.”

“Hmmm?”

“Are we alone in here?”

There was a moment of silence, then he saw Arthur biting his bottom lip, even if he was still panting softly. “Yes, we are. But if my King would like for anyone to join us… then I suppose-“

“No!” The prince tsked. “I was only asking because last time I was here someone _who wasn’t you_ made a move on me while I was trying to get some sleep and it was particularly frightening and unsavory,” he grumbled.

The sorcerer made no sound, but the movement of his chest betrayed that he was laughing. “I’m sorry about that, it was just a familiar spirit. I was trying to scare you…”

Alfred scowled, pushing himself up until his face hovered above the green-eyed boy’s. “Well that wasn’t nice at all, it actually worked! And here I thought you were a good sorcerer,” he said pouting.

“My King, there is no such thing as a _good sorcerer_.”

“How disappointing, then. I might decide to punish you, my Queen.”

Arthur chuckled some more, then pulled the prince down to taste his mouth again. “Punish me, my King,” he murmured softly against his husband’s lips.

* * *

 

Alfred was slightly worried. Now that most of the wedding euphoria had passed and he was settled in the pleasant certainty of being married to the Green Mage, he couldn’t help wondering _what next_? Because the prince was realistic enough to know that next would come the trial of making himself King of the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms and then proceed to be a worthy King for his people. Still, the blond figured that all that was rather a long term concern, for Arthur had informed him that there were more urgent matters to be dealt with for the moment.

As they walked together down the corridor, the green-eyed sorcerer aiding himself with his cane – Alfred would have gladly carried him around in his arms and it wouldn’t have been much of a burden either since Arthur was very thin and light, only he’d absolutely refused – the prince worried as to what matter could be that urgent now. Was there something to do with the war on the Continent? With their Kingdom? He dreaded as much as thinking of it, because truth be told he felt guilty about leaving it all behind without looking back, preoccupied only by the pursuit of his one true love.  

“Oi, mah wee bun, ah see ye’re up an’ about. Well, thank the Gods fer tha’ cane, aye? Tha’ way no one can tell-.. Ahh!” Allistor (who had popped up out of the blue) laughed like an idiot, startling the prince out of his musings. Alfred also didn’t quite catch up the meaning of said words before seeing the blond sorcerer hurling the tip of his cane at his cousin’s stomach.

“Fuck you, Allistor!”

“Might be ta late fer tha’. An’ don’t ye ‘ave otha stuff ta look inta?” The redhead motioned towards the door leading to one of the palace’s inner gardens. “Ah think they’re waitin’ fer ye ta stop quarellin’ or somethin’. Or fer the fockin’ sky ta collapse on their heads, fer all ah know.”

The blue-eyed blond scowled. “What exactly is going on?”

Arthur groaned, waving dismissively at the still laughing Red Mage. By the Gods, if Allistor wasn’t helpful like a boil in the butt! “Remember what I told you, that the fight happening when you’d passed out back in the Dark Lands is still going on? I meant it,” he replied ill-humoredly.

And saying that, he pushed the door open with his cane, revealing a very familiar and noisy group. Kohler and all of his crew were there, and two young men who Alfred was quickly able to recognize as the Dragons (only they weren’t wearing shiny armors anymore, instead garments made of fine black velvet and they were both quite a sight, too), and hell they were arguing.

“Oh, by the Gods!” Alfred exclaimed, his arm shooting out on impulse and slamming the door back shut. “Ugh… I think I remember what this was about… Can’t we just go back to bed?” he pouted.

The smaller blond raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “No, actually-“ His phrase was cut short when he received a sudden violent shove, enough to have him tumbling down to the hard floor and yelp in pain.

“JUST _WHAT THE HELL_ IS _HE_ DOING HERE?!” Lukas yelled. “What are they all doing here?! What do you think this is, some second-rate inn?”

“Who, the pirate you’re fucking?” the Green Mage retorted sharply, as his King hurried to collect him from the ground.

The prince’s eyes widened in comprehension. “ _You’re_ Lukas?! Mathias speaks of you all the time-“

“Mind your own fucking business, Prince!” the pale blond yelled angrily, his unseeing eyes throwing a precise glare in his direction regardless. Indeed, Kohler had been right about him, the boy was beautiful like a fairy prince, but he did act like the king of trolls, if there ever had been one. “And you, Arthur, fix that shit, yeah?”

With that Lukas disappeared, leaving them both in front of the closed door.

* * *

 

“I can’t keep listening to zhis bullshit on and on and on, so tiresome!” the Silver Dragon said. “Vhy vouldn’t zhis man understand zhat vhat he vants is of no interest to me? I love Elizaveta and I’ve claimed her as my voman, so if I’m to stay here and serve your stupid half-assed Order of Mages, or vhatever ze hell zhis thing is, she is staying here vith me!”

“He has claimed her?! _CLAIMED_?! Are we all wild beasts here?! She’s my sister and a _Princess_! I won’t stand and see her treated like some-” Kohler protested, clenching his fists. But no matter how enraged the southern prince was, something about the two dragons’ appearance instinctively warned him to keep his distance.

Alfred’s gaze traveled warily from the three men making up the pirate crew – they looked well-fed and rested for a change but as bluntly indifferent as ever – to the arguing parties. He knew that without this particular situation occurring, namely the sudden and unexpected romance between Gilbert and Elizaveta, there would have been no victory and they would have all made nice corpse puppets in the Necromancer’s collection. 

“You know that without this…” he said, discreetly reaching for the Green Mage’s hand as they walked towards the group.

“…everything would have gone to shit, I know,” Arthur sighed.

“And they do love each other. It wouldn’t be fair to… What are you going to do about it?”

The green-eyed boy didn’t know. And he just couldn’t believe that his job as a Mage would interfere with his ‘honeymoon’ with Alfred so soon. But still, Osmanthus hadn’t stated any intention concerning the Dragons yet, so perhaps they could be put to some sort of use? Arthur scowled, indeed it would have been so good to be able to just go back to bed with his husband, because the last thing he wanted to think about right now was some scheme or political move.

“Oh, Alfred, thank the Gods you’re here!” Elizaveta cried, for once letting go of the Silver Dragon’s arm and rushing to greet them. “Mathias is being awfully unreasonable! Why can’t he see that I love Gilbert with all my heart? Who cares if we’re not married and all that bullshit!”

“Well I-“

The prince didn’t really know what to say and he was inclined to agree with her – only this would have been disloyal to Kohler, without whom there would have been no quest. But the pirate captain rushed past his sister, ignoring him completely as he stopped in front of Arthur, giving him an angry once-over.

“Well?! What have you to say for yourself, Mage? We’ve brought you the damned Dragons and not only there’s no reward in sight, but you wouldn’t even offer a solution to this dreadful situation!”

Arthur looked troubled for a moment, fighting back a scowl, but then his features settled into a pleasant smile and he brought his hands together conciliatorily. “Milord, rest assured that the Order fully understands all of your concerns. And they will be addressed shortly too, but in the meantime, enjoy your stay here and relax.” There was an odd twinkle in his green eyes as he said that and the prince realised that Kohler had just been bewitched into submission. Indeed, he saw the wild-haired blond loosen up suddenly, the angry look gone from his face.

“Zhat is a great idea for once,” the Silver Dragon agreed with a grin. “And now I’d like to stretch my vings a bit. Elizaveta, vould you like to come vith me? You can see the vhole city from up in zhe air and zhen I vill take you above the clouds.”

The brunette squealed excitedly, nodding and clapping her hands, and Gilbert proceeded to transform, his black clothing vanishing to be replaced by gleaming silvery scales, legs morphing into giant claws and arms into magnificently large wings. When he had changed completely into his real form, Alfred could only stare in wonder at the thoroughly frightening yet absolutely superb creature in front of them. The Dragon leaned down, allowing the princess to climb up one of his wings and settle safely between the large scales on his spine. After which he took off, violently stirring the air with the flutter of his wings.

“Whoa! Did he just… fly away?”

“The Dragons are bound by a spell, so no matter how far they go, they’ll have to return here eventually. We can’t keep them caged in some dungeon like the Necromancers did, they were suffering in there, chained and without proper space to move. And no, they won’t roast anyone or anything, so don’t worry,” Arthur explained with a smile, still watching the place where the dragon was now just a faint shadow against the white clouds. “You can go too.”

But Ludwig responded to the invitation with a blank stare, followed by a roll of his eyes.

* * *

 

Arthur collapsed with a tired huff on a pile of cushions, motioning for the prince to join him. They were in one of the Council rooms the Mages used and Alfred thought it was somewhat exciting to see his sorcerer husband at work for a short while. The Red Mage Valentin was also there, pouring some wine for everyone, but fortunately the Blue Mage was currently trolling somewhere (or someone) else.

“You know, there’s still the issue of Prince Roderich’s marriage yet to be fixed,” Valentin reminded. “The King is getting impatient, even though I’ve kept explaining to him it can’t be done at a snap of fingers. Have you thought about it?” 

“Prince Roderich isn’t by any chance the heir of the only White Kingdom which has still retained its independence from King Francis?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah, the Eighth… And you’d think it would be easy for King Patrick to find a future Queen for his son, because of their position and all, even if their Kingdom is rather poor. Yet he asked for our help, because… um… to put it bluntly, no one wants him.”

Arthur chewed on his bottom lip, wondering what his prince thought about this whole enterprise, knowing his overall views on arranged marriages. Not that the young mage didn’t share them himself, but this wasn’t an ordinary case and it wasn’t even like someone –anyone – actually loved the Prince Roderich and was willing to marry him. And it was also that-

“The problem is that King Patrick simply assumed that when his son would be King his Queen would take care of defenses and everything concerning the military, while his Advisors would see to the actual government, and all Roderich would have to do would be to wear the crown and a smile on his face or something. Such that the boy hasn’t received any relevant schooling nor has he acquired any skills required of a monarch. He only knows how to play musical instruments, but a Kingdom is hardly a musical instrument,” he explained

“And so his Queen would have to be overly qualified and be able to handle _everything_ , including him,” the Red Mage added, taking a sip of his wine. “The second and worst problem of all is that Prince Roderich, like most rich children left to their own devices, has grown up to be insufferable and with a misplaced sense of entitlement. So why would anyone of noble blood offer their excellently educated daughter or son up to serve him? Even in the wide-spread realm of arranged marriages making your child marry loveless is one thing, but knowing for sure that they will be treated very badly in their new family is quite another.”

Arthur downed his cup in one gulp and asked for a refill, while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Say, has the Master mentioned any purpose for the Dragons yet?”

“No, he only said they’re to remain here, until we can find suitable purpose. But I suppose he meant for the war-”

“Perhaps we can use one of the Dragons in this matter,” the Green Mage stated pensively.

Valentin rolled his eyes. “To fry Prince Roderich or for what?”

“Sadly no, but I was thinking that we can solve all current problems this way: Gilbert the Silver Dragon can become Roderich’s Queen, while Elizaveta will be their official concubine. We will set this as a compulsory term, so he either takes both or none. Let’s face it, if a Dragon can’t handle that pain in the ass of a prince, no one will. The Dragon will probably like it because all dragons crave kingdoms and treasures and whatever, and official concubine is still a royal position, so Kohler should be pleased. In addition, he will have our word that he is to be crowned King of his father’s Kingdom as soon as it regains freedom from Francis’s dominion. Now it shall be your task to make sure they all accept these terms and we’re done for now,” Arthur said.  

And he would have been pretty pleased with himself too if not seeing the puzzled frown on his husband’s face and guessing what had caused it. Damn, apparently Alfred hadn’t exactly done his homework and since the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms had never had a male Queen in all of its history, there was one tiny detail which must have slipped his mind entirely…

“Of course they will accept, this was meant to be,” Valentin said with a wry smile. “Now pray to all the Gods I won’t come back into chopped, roasted pieces from this meeting…”

* * *

 

“I know why you’re sulking,” the green-eyed mage said after a while, when they’d been left alone. “But it’s not my fau-“

“No, it’s mine!” Alfred retorted, a bit more sharply than he’d intended. “I’ve no one to blame but myself for not thinking about it, I really, truly paid no mind to… to all this.” Of course, there was no other way a King with a male Queen could produce an heir and even Kings with female Queens sometimes chose to take official concubines.

Arthur felt his chest hollow suddenly and his face dropped. “To _all this_?” he asked, almost inaudibly.

The prince noticed and immediately he gathered the mage in his arms, kissing his hair soothingly. “To this whole _being King_ shit. My father is right and I have been selfish… and all the while I’ve been hiding my purpose of being with you behind this noble goal of being a great King to my people, but I have no idea what it’s like to be King and never thought about it, or about this thing with taking a male Queen and concubines and I don’t think I can do this anyway, I just could not lay with someone other than you!”     

Well, other idiots have no qualms about it, the Green Mage thought. He looked up into his prince’s sky-blue eyes and sighed. “Look, Alfred, the truth is you have born the responsibilities which should have been your father’s ever since you were twelve and he put this ring on your finger.” He dug in the pocket of his robe and produced the large sapphire ring, slipping it back onto Alfred’s middle finger. “And you’ll deal with the rest as it comes, don’t worry yourself over all of it just now, yes?”   

“M-My ring!” Alfred stuttered in surprise. “You found it and bought it? I-I can’t believe it!”

Arthur had actually sent Allistor to steal it back from the respective merchant, but he decided that his husband was better off kept in the dark about that particular detail. He settled into the taller blond’s renewed embrace, which was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a servant.

“Forgive me, Master. This is the latest report from the spies on the Continent,” the man said, handing Arthur a rolled parchment with a bow, then retreated out the door.

The young sorcerer unrolled it with trembling hands, his eyes quickly travelling down the lines of secret marks roughly scribbled in black ink. His lips, suddenly drained of all color, parted slightly to let out a shaky breath as he read it to the very end.

“Arthur? What’s the matter, what does it say?!”   

The Green Mage kept his gaze glued to the scroll in his helpless hands. “Francis has conquered the Eighth of the Black Kingdoms ten days ago. King Henry Zwingli and his son Vash have both fallen in battle, and the Princess Lily is taken prisoner. The White King intends to make her his concubine and the mother of his first heir.”

Alfred felt his stomach sink with dread. The wild and brave King Henry, dead? And Lilly- “But she’s still _a_ _child_!”

“T-There’s more… Your father succumbed to sudden illness and it seems that, upon knowing this… Francis will make a move on the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms before the month is over.”

 

**_To be continued_ **


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

A/N – Greetings! I will begin by saying that it’s been more than a year since I’ve started this story (June last year was when I published it, to be more precise). Black ball for me for dragging it on for this long, it’s quite unprecedented :)) But we’ve made up for lost time quite alright and here we are at last – at the relatively short epilogue (very slightly GerIta flavored and peppered with an ending you are clearly not expecting, but hell I’m writing this)! I’m both excited and sad upon this occasion and also I’d like to thank all of you for the amazing support this story has been getting on the way, I’m truly grateful and always happy to see my stuff appreciated. So again thank you and enjoy the conclusion of things ;)

_Bella – Belgium_

_Heracles Karpussi - Greece_

* * *

 

A wind cooler than usual had begun to blow over the Isle as soon as the prince’s ship had departed for the Continent and now Arthur was curled up gloomily into the cushions, a soft blanket wrapped around his thin frame to keep away the chill. Of course, he’d been aware all along that once they were married Alfred and he would still have to see to their own duties, but he hadn’t thought that the prince would have to go away so soon.

Alfred had written letters to both his mother and his uncle, the King Ivan Braginski before setting off back home in the company of Kohler and his crew (aside from the Princess Elizaveta, who had left earlier with the Silver Dragon to the Eighth of the White Kingdoms). There were strong reasons to believe that now with King Thorne gone and no other heirs existent there would be no impediment to Alfred’s succession to the throne, but there was still the more pressing matter of preparing the Kingdom’s defenses. Normally, his new Queen (and this time _real_ Queen) would have had to go with him and indeed, Arthur was going to go and protect the Kingdom once more if the task for which he had stayed behind was not going to be accomplished before the month was over. 

“You know, if you sit and sulk nothing will be accomplished,” Lukas pointed. “Have you decided if we are going to trust the Naga or not?”

“I thought it was something that all three of us would decide together,” Valentin intervened. “But why shouldn’t we trust them? The Order of the Naga is renowned for discretion and efficiency. If we are to keep the appearance of neutrality towards the Continental affairs, who else could better deal with this little problem?”

The Mages had eventually decided that the simplest and most discreet way to deal with the White King Francis and end the war on the Continent was to kill his undead poppet Queen, Matthew, now that it had been proven he was no living man. It was a fact that without his Queen, who was alone worth more than ten armies together, the King’s army could not possibly suffice to keep the newly formed empire together. The key to Matthew’s destruction lay in the small jewel which was the seal of the contract between the owner and its poppet – an earring worn by the King at all times – and that earring was going to have to be stolen from him.  

The idea had come to Arthur upon remembering Princess’s Natalya’s insult – the Order of the Naga had a _certain_ reputation as service providers. In times of old the boys taken in their care had been trained to be exceptional assassins, while the girls had been destined to become equally exceptional prostitutes. But these days both genders would be equally skilled in both jobs, hence Natalya’s malicious (however not entirely misplaced) insinuation. And it was no mystery that King Francis liked whores more than a little bit.

“Then it’s decided, send for them.”

* * *

 

Ludwig stood straight on one side of the wooden panel in the audience hall, expectant. The three Mages were hidden, but the Dragon had no reason to be kept away from sight. Lukas had suggested that the Naga could not be solely entrusted with the mission at hand, so the Golden Dragon would be involved as well to enhance the chances of success.

The door opened and a shield maiden came into view, taking a bow in the general direction of the panel. “Masters, the men sent by the Order of the Naga are here, as you requested: Feliciano Vargas, Bella and Heracles Karpussi.”

“Who exactly has chosen them?” the Red Mage asked in a low voice.

“Their master has chosen, assuring that they are the best. That remains to be seen, I suppose…” Lukas replied.

Arthur took a good look at the three as they walked in and advanced towards the panel – both boys and the girl were very attractive indeed and he had no doubt the White King would enjoy the sight of them, if not more. The girl was blonde, blue-eyed and supple, with a red silk bow in her hair and a saffron colored, almost see-through dress of the same material. One of the boys was shorter and very delicate in appearance, with sun-kissed skin, auburn hair and light-brown, almost golden eyes, while the other was taller, pale and darker of hair, and torso with muscles worthy of a warrior god. Both boys wore light black slacks and simple silk vests leaving their chests and arms bare, thus displaying the alluring black ink shapes adorning their upper bodies. 

“Pretty little sluts with enough blades hidden in that scanty clothing to kill ten guards each,” the Blue Mage observed. “Too bad we can’t put their skills to full use when it comes to King Francis.”

“My lords, we are here at your service,” the auburn-haired boy named Feliciano Vargas said, lowering one knee to the ground and bowing his head in obedience. The other two mirrored his movements with the same feline grace.

‘So they are under his command’, Arthur thought. ‘Nothing is as it seems with them, hopefully an advantage’. “Very well,” he spoke loudly, straightening his back as he sat on the soft cushions. “I shall tell you of your mission. Three days from now the White King Francis will hold a great party in the newly conquered capital of the Eighth of the Black Kingdoms, to celebrate the latest victory of his Queen. We want you to attend the party and lure the King with the purpose of stealing two things he now possesses. One is a jewel he wears amongst many, a small earring with a purple stone. The other is a prisoner of great value, the Princess Lily Zwingli, a young girl about fourteen years of age. Take the Princess to the Fourth of the Black Kingdoms and have the jewel delivered into our hands. When these two things have happened, your master will see the payment he asked for.”

Feliciano tilted his head in thought, golden eyes trailing from the panel to the tall blond watching from the side. “But master, the Kingdoms of the Continent are very far, especially the ones of the north. How could we possibly travel there to make it in three days from now?”

“You will travel on the wings of a Dragon,” the Red Mage said, and Ludwig took a few steps forward, curiously measuring the boy and the others.

* * *

 

When it was all said and done with the brief and hastened coronation ceremony, Alfred finally had a moment to draw breath and ponder upon things. His poor mother looked as if she had aged ten years in his absence, her soft, graceful beauty withered before time. Worry had gnawed at the Queen-mother’s heart having no news of her only son for so many long months, but she had eventually been allowed to breathe in relief upon his return. Among the Advisors Yao Wang was the only one appearing unchanged and fully pleased with how things had worked out in the end. The others kept asking where the new Queen was – if he indeed had one now – and Alfred too eagerly awaited Arthur’s arrival, for more than that one reason.  

After the fashion of his uncle, the young king had had a large mirror brought in the throne room for his husband’s future use – as it was apparently easier and with less effort for a sorcerer to travel between distant places through mirrors and Arthur would have to go back to the Isle and see to his duties as a Mage as well every now and then.

It was close to midnight and the throne room was deserted, the vast space illuminated only by moonlight and a few lonely candles still flickering in corners. The blue-eyed blond had still lingered even after everyone else had left, eyes trained on the glass of the mirror which stood dark in its place and indeed, his waiting was soon rewarded. There was a ripple on the smooth surface and then his beloved sorcerer walked through it with a smile.

Arthur had chosen simple black velvet clothes as it was traditional of the Northern Kingdoms, and his King could only marvel how well the color suited him, contrasting with his pale complexion and his golden blond hair. He was also without his cane, and it was a relief for Alfred to see him again looking healthy, albeit with the aid of magic. After all, even if he loved the sorcerer just as he was, the people could never know that their Queen was crippled.     

“It is done, my King,” the green-eyed blond said, walking up to the throne. “Our plan worked as intended and once we held the contract jewel purchased by Francis from the Necromancers we crushed it. The Queen Matthew is no more, and your promise to the Lady Jeanne is fulfilled. Francis will have no choice but to withdraw his troops and very possibly abdicate too. His own men tire with him, I was told, and now that the odds are no longer in their favor….”

His husband reached out for his hand, taking it to his lips.”My love, how could I ever show gratitude for everything you’ve done for me?” he murmured.

“I would have these worries wiped off your brow and your lips smile again.”

“We still have a problem,” Alfred said pouting, chin propped in his hand as he leaned back on the plush seat of the throne. “Tiny in comparison with the one solved, but pestering nevertheless.”

Arthur scowled. “Well?”

“The Princess Lily is here, together with a particularly dreadful hag who is her governess or something.  Of course, I saw no harm in her being brought here, because after all she is left without protection and even if she is to go home… she would not be safe there until things are properly concluded with King Francis. But the hag says that her lady cannot possibly remain under my roof without being _compromised_ , if she hasn’t been so already!”

The sorcerer’s brows rose in confusion. “Compromised?”

“Yes, as if this was a fucking one-room hoot where we’re all sharing the same straw bed!”

 “I suppose she implied that the princess cannot remain here unless you offer a commitment of sorts. Like making Lilly your official concubine.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and grimaced, confirming his suspicion.

“It’s not such a bad idea.”

“ _WHAT?!_ How the hell is it NOT a bad idea?!” the King hissed. “I told you I don’t want a concubine and she’s a _child_ , for Gods’ sake!”

The smaller blond knelt at the foot of the throne, gently taking Alfred’s hands in his own.“Please, my King, think of it. You can make a stipulation that the union will not be consummated until she’s of proper age. In this way you will have the time to get used to the idea. Also, once she’s the official concubine your Advisors won’t press you to get one, as they would otherwise. Everyone will be pleased.”

The young king sighed, realising that his husband was right. He pulled Arthur into his arms and cradled him against his chest, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against his. There was both joy for things accomplished and worry for challenges to come in his heart.

“Arthur… I’ve learned a few things in the meantime. If we are to take a concubine, she will be _our_ concubine, not mine alone.”

The sorcerer’s pale fingers found their way through his blonde strands. “Would that ease your burden or complicate the situation?” Arthur kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose. “You know I shall do nothing that you do not want.”

“I know, but… will Lily not come between us? And will she not be miserable if I reject her feelings?”

“No, my King. Nothing shall ever come between us and we shall both embrace the mother of your children as a dear friend, and treat her with gentleness and affection. All this I promise you, my love.”

**THE END**

 


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